


Helvegen

by SkadiLaughedFirst



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anachronistic Dialogue, Blood and Injury, Gen, I just like elaborate plots and Loki suffering ok?, Loki Whump, Military History, Murder Mystery, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Plots and Conspiracies, Poor Loki (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-06-30 22:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15760965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkadiLaughedFirst/pseuds/SkadiLaughedFirst
Summary: The siege is long, the rations are low, and a shot in the dark leaves King Thor dead. Who fired the bullet? No one knows. Prince Loki talks only of going home, Field Marshal Heimdall plots revolution and Natasha – or is it Natalie? – is thinking five steps ahead. All that Tony’s sure of is that this early modern army is facing ancient foes: hunger, betrayal and, above all, the rage of winter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Do you like terrible things happening to Loki? With a plot? A *historical fiction* plot? Then you, my friend, are in the right place - and can look forward to weekly updates Tuesday nights. The one thing I love more than Loki suffering through obscure military disasters are comments, so please leave a little something to help keep the story going. Enjoy!

No one heard the shot that night, not until much later. Blood dried on the sleeves of Korg’s coat as he sprinted through the Asgardian camp. It was just after dawn – still quiet. That wouldn’t last. Already they were rolling the cannons over the frozen ground. Already he could hear the crisp orders, the trumpet and the drums. Already Fury’s men up on the walls across the battlefield, loading their muskets. No matter how hard the Asgardians fought, Captain Rogers and the rest of them fought back twice as fiercely. He could see the glint of their sights in the winter sunlight. Taking aim. Ready to fire. One of them already had.

Korg stumbled in the freshly fallen snow. It seeped through the holes he’d worn in his heels. The first from marching, then from slicing slivers off for soup. He would have taken Doug’s, but Doug’s had been much the same. Hardly even enough leather left for patches. He ducked around the pockmarked walls and rubble and over the slowly stirring soldiers. There had been houses there before, pressed up against the fortress walls. Fury had burned what he could before shutting the gates. Back then Korg hadn’t fretted. They’d had canvas and pegs for tents. Back then it had been May. Now Korg shivered as he rounded the last corner and the small church came into view. The king’s banner hung limply by the door, the red and gold hammer faded and torn. A sentry slumbered on the steps. He snored as Korg approached.

“Skurge?” Korg recognized the soldier. Skurge’s eyes opened blearily. “Where’s Val?”

“You tell me, Corporal” Skurge yawned. “Bastard never came for her watch. When I find her,” Skurge paused, frowning at Korg’s wild-eyed state and the blood still red on his hands. “Corporal?”

“Message for his Grace Prince Loki,” Korg said quickly. Skurge blinked blankly back at him. “Is he inside?” Korg pressed. 

“He may be. I didn’t see him come back,” Skurge admitted at last. Cursing, Korg hurried past him up the stairs. He doubted he’d reached the second step before he heard the snores start up again.

Within the church it was no warmer than without, and dark. The only light came in through the holes in the roof. Squinting through the gloom, Korg saw the altar stripped bare and draped with crinkled maps. Someone had placed a small gilt icon of Odin Allfather where the cross had hung. His once jeweled eye scowled down at the maps and the scant few miles his sons had won. Korg bowed his head to the figure, with respect. The Allfather was with them. He would see them through. A groan from the cloisters drew Korg away. Off the main apse, under a splintered colonnade, Loki sat on a narrow cot. He was shaking, his thick coat hanging off of too thin shoulders.

“Your Grace?” Korg began. Loki didn’t seem to hear him. The prince looked blearily down at the muddy snow still clinging to his boots. It wasn’t warm enough inside the church for it to melt. Korg stepped closer, carefully. Loki’s breath rasped.

“Your Grace?” Korg repeated, louder now. Loki flinched.

“Skurge let you through?” he asked, still looking blankly at the wall. Korg nodded. “What for?”

“Message for your Grace. It’s His Majesty King Thor.”

“What of the king?” Loki frowned.

Korg fought to keep his voice even. “The King is dead, your Grace. I found him this morning. In the trenches,” he added. “It must’ve been the Hawk, your Grace. He was hit clean through the eye.”

“Were you alone?” Loki interrupted. He was looking at Korg now, and feverishly. Korg couldn’t meet that gaze.

“Alone, your Grace?” he said, looking at his feet.

“When you found him, were you alone?”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“And where is he now?”

“I did try to move him,” Korg said mournfully.

Loki stood slowly. “He’s still in the trench?” he asked, incredulous.

“I covered him best I could with his cloak.”

“His cloak? With the Odinson crest?”

“Yes?”

“Lying in sight of Fury’s watchmen?”

“Oh.”

Loki was already buttoning up his coat. With only three smart gold buttons left it hardly took a moment. “Show me where,” he ordered, already striding out the door. Korg jogged to keep up with him. Even Skurge couldn’t sleep through their passing. He scrambled to his feet, still yawning, and slipped on the step as he tried to bow.

“My prince,” he offered. “Shall I – ?”

“Nothing. You shall nothing. You do nothing.” Loki didn’t bother stopping. “Keep to you post and if anyone comes for me, I have taken ill.”

“Where are you – ?”

“Nowhere. In the church. Ill, if Heimdall asks. Or anyone. Or Heimdall.”

The camp was waking up around them, and Loki seemed ready to snap at every sound. He kept his head down and ducked behind bits of broken wall each time they passed any man of rank or blood. At long, long last they reached the lines in the shadow of the five-point fort. Loki stopped short at the lip of the trench. 

“This one?” he asked. Korg shook his head.

“Two over east,” he pointed. He paused to catch his breath, but Loki was already walking. Korg followed him over the edge. A short way along the trough, Loki stopped sharply. Korg drew up behind him and pointed at the crimson bundle lying in the snow.  
“I couldn’t lift him over the edge,” Korg admitted. “Not stiff like he’s got. The cannoneers should be along soon. They’ll help, before we start the attack.”

“What attack?” Loki sighed.

“At dawn. On the eastern wall.”

“On whose orders? The king's?” Loki crouched and pulled back the cape covering his brother’s face. Thor’s remaining eye was blank and cloudy. The blood from his wound – thick and congealed – was smeared where Korg had tried to grab hold. “Go and find General Tyr. Tell him to pull back. There’s no attack today.”

“Your Grace?” Korg hesitated. “The king’s orders…”

“That order died with the king.” Loki closed his eyes, feeling a sudden pang of pain behind them. “Find Tyr.”

“Should we carry him back to the camp first, your Grace? Lay him out in state?”

“I’ll manage,” Loki said curtly.

“I only managed to lift him halfway up,” Korg insisted. “And I doubt – your pardon, but I doubt your Grace has fared any better than the rest of us, leastways since the snow’s set in.” He reached for Thor’s ankles. “Let me help you lift him out of the trench at least.”

Loki’s hand shot out and grabbed Korg’s wrist. “Find Tyr,” he repeated. “I’ll manage here.”

Korg nodded nervously. Loki loosened his grip. Without hesitating, the soldier scrambled up the earthworks and disappeared into the camp. Once he was out of sight, Loki collapsed on the ice. He covered his face. Frozen fingers kneaded at the worry lines that had started folding on his brow. He should weep. He wanted to weep. But he was too tired and too cold and too hungry. And instead of tears cam a smile. There would be no attack today. There would be no attack the next day either, or the next.  
Abruptly a clatter from the enemy walls brought him back. There were no sentries there that he could see, not yet, but there would be soon enough. Forcing himself up to his knees, Loki stripped the cloak off of his brother’s corpse. He folded it over to hid the gold embroidered crest and dragged it through the muck to dull the bright red gleam. From the height of the walls, he and Thor might seem little more than common officers. And shabby officers at that. Still, Fury’s men would see to it that any moving Asgardian did not move for long. Loki kept his back against the earthworks and his eyes on the walls as he tried to hoist the body up. As Korg had said, it had already gone stiff. Loki was sweating by the time he’d worked his arms around Thor’s chest. He heaved, bracing his back against the dirt. A small ledge of snow came loose and hit the back of his neck. The cold streaked under his collar, down his spine. With a yelp, Loki dropped the corpse. Thor’s head landed with a crack on Loki’s foot, leaving a few globs of browning blood on his boot.

“Allfather!” Loki cursed through his teeth. He bent down to lift Thor by the arms. “Damn you, brother,” he hissed, straining against the weight. “Damn your mead, damn your boars, damn your sweets.” His grip slipped. This time Loki fell with the body, landing at the bottom of the trench with his leg trapped under Thor’s bulk.

“Damn your war,” he muttered under his breath. He kicked the body. Hard. Thor rolled across the trench. He ended up on his side, facing Loki. His expression was blank, but Loki imagined a playful smile there. He stifled a frustrated scream. He didn’t hear the footsteps creeping closer overhead.

“Your Grace?” Heimdall’s low voice rumbled down. Loki took care to keep his breathing steady.

“Heimdall,” he answered evenly. “You’ve heard?”

“Your man Korg,” Heimdall confirmed. “He’ll be back with a bier soon to bear the king somewhere more fitting.”

“Thoughtful of you,” Loki said tersely.

“I would have thought you’d done the same. But then the cold dulls even the sharpest blades.” Heimdalll knelt at the lip of the trench and extended a hand. “Come, your Grace. The men could not bear to lose both Odinsons before the day is out.”

“I’m sure there’s those that wouldn’t mind,” Loki grimaced. “You’ve heard Baldr talk.”

“Hela’s arm is long,” Heimdall said mildly. “Even without an army, it was unwise of Thor to leave Asgard in her care.” He kept his hand outstretched. Grudgingly, Loki took it and dragged himself out of the trench. Heimdall waited patiently as Loki pulled himself up off his belly. His jacket was stained brown, soaked through in places with slush and muck. 

“No one’s ever accused Thor of wisdom,” Loki sighed, shaking off the worst of the snow. “And as for armies, she has at least the half of this one.”

“You had Tyr pull back the morning’s raid,” Heimdalll commented once Loki had got to his feet. “Am I to take it the siege is ended?”

“I’ll call a meeting with the generals after we’ve moved my brother out of sight. I trust your curiosity can wait until then.”

“It would be a wise choice,” Heimdall suggested. “Wiser than your brother would have made. We’ve been in this war too long to come home heroes. Simply to come home would be enough.”

“I doubt he’s been dead an hour,” Loki said flatly. “And already I’ve ended his war and you’ve called him a fool.” Thor seemed smaller from up here, without the cloak. Loki kicked a stray bit of snow into the trench. “Hang friendship, he would’ve had you hanged for saying such.”

“What would he have done to you?”

“Worse,” Loki said hoarsely. 

“And what will you do, Loki?” Heimdall turned to the prince, studying him. Loki frowned.

“We’ll retreat,” he said. “I’ve told you as much.”

“But after?” Heimdall mused. Loki gave no reply. “When we are back in Asgard, when you have the choice to be crowned king.” Loki jerked back as if he’d been struck.

“Choice? Choice!” He glared at Heimdall. “Take care what you say next.”

“It’s nothing I have not said before.” Heimdall raised his hands placatingly.

“And how many years in a cell did it cost you? Nothing has changed since my father’s day. Yet here you are, ready to speak treason for all the world to hear.”

“Who’s listening?” Heimdall said softly. Silence answered him. The marching had stopped. The cannon wheels stilled. “The dead? Weary soldiers? Fury’s men? They’d all agree. We have the chance to end it. A chance Thor never thought to take. A chance that thousands died for under Odin’s reign.”

“Go on,” Loki dared him. “Tell me again of your glorious constitution.”

“It was glorious,” Heimdall said simply. Loki scoffed.

“You lasted five days!”

“And each of us would have fought on until our end. Each of us. Except for you.”

Loki held Heimdall’s gaze. His fists clenched and unclenched spastically. “Would you have me beg forgiveness of ghosts?” The words whistled over gritted teeth. “Of you?”

Heimdall sniffed a sad little laugh. “You beg as well as I forgive, I’ll wager. But that’s between us as men. I’m speaking of Asgard, not our honours or our names. If any Odinson should know the difference, I trust it should be you.”

Weariness rolled over Loki. He didn’t even feel the chill of the wind. “I want to go home, Heimdall,” he said at last. His voice was small. “My brother is dead, the war’s lost. Asgard’s army will return in tatters and shame.” In spite of himself, he smiled. “And I’ll meet my son. And that and getting us home is all I will allow on my mind until Thor is laid to rest in Valhalla beside our ancestors and a new king is crowned in Asgard’s golden hall.”

“Loki, you’ve never wanted a throne,” Heimdall said softly. Loki gave no reply. “It’s not a burden you have to bear. You have an army here – ”

“Half of whom are Hela’s spies.”

“And half are loyal men,” Heimdall insisted. “On my honour, I have soldiers here who would follow me to the very palace gates. Think how much further they would go if we led them side by side.”

Loki shook his head. “This is madness. And treason.”

“Against a dead king?”

“Against the throne! Against Asgard. My brother’s death,” Loki continued forcefully. “My brother’s death ended this war, but it will not be the end of Asgard. It will be peace. It will be a king who stays in his kingdom. It will be a new beginning.”

“It could have been,” Heimdall said grimly.

“Your Grace! Your Grace!” Korg’s cries cut off any retort Loki had planned. “I hoped we’d still find you here.”

“We?” Loki frowned

“Miek and I, your Grace. We thought to take the king back to the camp for the men to pay their respects.” A second soldier limped into view, dragging a makeshift sled. Loki turned pale.

“Who else have you told?” he said. It came out harsh. Korg ducked his head. “How many?” 

“Only Miek, your Grace,” Kog stammered. After a moment’s thought, he added, “and Lord Tyr.” Loki’s lips thinned. Korg gulped. “Lord Tyr’s aide might have been in earshot. But he’s half-deaf from cannon fire.”

“Hearing half of this won’t stop him spreading rumours.” Loki dug his nails into his temple. “We tell no one else for now. Not a soul.”

“Of course, your Grace,” Korg agreed. “Not a whisper. Same for Miek.”

“Your word?” Loki said, not looking at them. Heimdall only paused a moment before nodding. “On my honour.”

“On all our lives,” Loki added. “You two,” he ordered brusquely. “Take the king back to the camp and place him somewhere out of sight. Walk around the edge of the camp if you must, but no one is to see you or him.”

“Right you are, your Grace. We’ll wrap him back up in the cloak and – “

“Burn the cloak.”

Korg’s eyes went wide. “Burn the king’s crest?” he breathed. “What should he be shrouded in, your Grace?”

“It matters not!” Loki shouted. Heimdall laid a warning hand on his shoulder. Something had moved up on the fortress walls. “No one is to see him,” Loki lowered his voice. “Shroud him in whatever you can find. Cover him with snow if there’s nothing else. Just don’t let anyone see.”

Korg nodded meekly slipping down into the trench. Miek followed, silent but for the crunch of snow.

“You’ll need patience, your Grace,” Heimdall warned. “If you’re going to lead us home.”

“I’m being patient,” Loki growled. “I need to find Tyr. There’ll be nothing organized about this retreat if word gets out.”

“Retreat?” The scuffling in the trench ceased as Korg and Miek looked up at Loki. “Are we going home?” Korg asked. Hoped. He was already braced for the usually answer when Loki nodded stiffly. Korg couldn’t stop the smile forming. He bit the inside of his cheek, but his eyes were dancing. “Your Grace,” he said, in awe.

“The king,” Loki reminded him.

“Of course, of course,” Korg’s head bobbed as he bent back ot his work. “Come on then, your Majesty,” he grunted as he and Miek lifted the body. “Let’s get you home.”


	2. Chapter 2

“We shot their king?” Fury surveyed Captain Rogers in disbelief. “Which motherfucker gave that order?”

“General, this is a win,” Rogers explained. “That camp’ll be in chaos by noon.”

“And if chaos stays in their camp, I’ll give whoever took that shot a medal. Right before I have him shot for insubordination. But if this turns into some kind of riot or Asgardian last stand,” Fur raised a warning finger. “There’s not gonna be a fucking medal.”

“General, this is good news. The prince – Loki – he’ll have taken command. And we know he’s tried to retreat before.”

“Tried to run, more like,” Fury said flatly. “Forgot half the army in the camp.” 

From her shadows in the corner, Romanova cleared her throat. “That was five weeks ago,” she mused. “None of them’ve had a square meal since.”

“Neither have we,” Fury pointed out. “But I don’t see any of our guys giving up. We can’t assume they’ll retreat. So all I know if we’ve gone from having a disciplined army with a strong leader at our door to having a bunch of starving Asgardians with guns and no king and no telling what they’ll do. And you’re right, Rogers, that might be good news. Might. But it shouldn’t be fucking news at all.” He turned to Romanova.

“I need someone in that camp. Anyone left that still owes you a favour?”

She cocked her head, thinking. Then nodded. “A few.”

“Then get me eyes and get me ears,” Fury instructed. “And where’s Barton? Wasn’t his unit on patrol last night? How did we not know about this the fucking second it happened?”

“We’re questioning Barton and his men as we speak, General,” Rogers assured him. “He’s reported firing two bullets at a bogie in the eastern trench, and the armoury’s confirmed the count. He says it was too dark to see insignia – ”

“Not too dark to land a killshot, though,” Fury quipped. “Keep grilling him. I want a full report by sundown.” Rogers nodded wryly on his way out. Romanova made to follow him.

“Hey,” Fury beckoned once Rogers was out of sight. Romanova stopped in the doorway. “Tell me you have someone.”

“I do,” she said coolly.

“Someone other than Stark. Someone we can trust.”

She hesitated before nodding. Fury still couldn’t tell if that mean she was thinking or lying. Or if there was a difference to begin with. By the time he thought to ask, she’d slipped away, hurrying down the turret’s narrow steps to the cobbled street below.  


It didn’t take her long to find the house. From the clear glass windows framed by gilded parapets to the ornate wrought iron gate every inch gave testament to Stark’s prodigious wealth. He’d once joked that Odin’s wars had paid for the front of the house and Thor’s for the rear. Natasha wondered if he was making that joke still. The gate, still dented from its last encounter with a cannonball, swung open easily. Natasha hurried up the way and rapped on the smart black door. The hollow sound echoed up the silent street. Stark’s neighbors had long since moved across the river to quarters where fewer bullets flew. Those who did not know Stark well would say he was too proud – or vain – to leave behind his little palace. Inside the house a bolt rattled. Natasha smiled. Men of Stark’s means had ways to move gold parapets and glass, even whole houses brick by brick. She doubted that he could buy greater privacy than this. The heavy door cracked open. 

“Hello?” A boy, scarcely fifteen, smiled at her. Natasha slipped on a pleasant face.

“Is Tony Stark in?”

“Mr. Stark?” the boy nodded. “Sure. He’s just in his study. I can go tell him you’re here, Miss…?”

“Peter!” Before Natasha could reply, a shrill voice called from the top of the stairs. Peter jumped.

“Aunt May! I was…”

“What have I told you?” she scolded, coming down the stairs. “About opening the door?”

“I thought someone needed help.”

“We need help, Peter. Everyone else will just have to help themselves.” Aunt May turned to glare at Natasha. “And what did you want?” she asked, imperiously.

“She’s here to see Mr. Stark,” Peter supplied.

“Is she now?” Aunt May put her hands on her hips. “And who are you, Miss?”

“An old friend of Tony’s,” Natasha said smoothly. She sidestepped Aunt May and slid into the house. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she heard the floorboards creak by the study door. Natasha turned. Standing in the doorway with his hands in his  
waistcoat pockets, Stark looked the picture of the bored elite. Aside from the black grease still caught under his fingernails.

“I don’t have old friends.” Stark squinted at her. 

“True,” Natasha admitted. “But you do have old debts. And I’ve come calling.”

“Mr. Stark, you just say the word,” Aunt May bristled. But Stark shook his head. 

“It’s alright, May. We won’t be long. After you, Natalie,” he told Natasha, gesturing into the study. 

Grumbling, Aunt May gathered up her skirts and headed back up the stairs. Peter made to follow, but Natasha saw him dawdling about the bannister, watching her. 

“It’s alright, Peter. Really,” Stark forced a smile. “Go help your aunt.” 

But Peter stayed. “You’re not here about muskets,” he said plainly, watching Natasha’s face. “Are you? And I’ve seen all of your creditors, Mr. Stark. I’d remember her.”

“Kid, I let you help with the accounts. That’s not a pass to say whatever pops into your head when I’m talking business.” Tony’s tone was harsher than he’d meant. Peter nodded, abashed. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“Go on, get to work.”

“Clever boy you’ve found, there,” Natasha said as Peter slouched upstairs and disappeared onto the landing. “And he’s not wrong,” she added, louder than she needed. She waited to hear the steps on the landing still before continuing. “Have you shown him your workshop yet?”

“I let him hang around. He’ll be decent gunsmith one day.”

“Not that workshop, Tony,” Natasha said. “Has he seen the engine?”

“There’s no engine,” Tony bristled. “It’s gone. Melted down, like you said. Burned the plans.”

“Really?” Natasha quirked her brow. “That’s your story? Watching you lie is an insult to my profession. I’ve done my part, protecting you. Keeping your name out of this whole sorry mess. But you just can’t stop, can you?”

“This could change the world,” Stark exploded.

“You say that about all your inventions,” she pointed out coolly.

“I,” Stark paused. “Alright, yeah. And they all could. But this one – Nat, it wouldn’t just be for the weavers. I’ve built another one – smaller, lighter but just as much power. If I could just get someone in the ferrymen’s guild to…” he trailed off. Natasha smiled  
sadly. “I’m doing this,” he said fiercely. “Stop protecting me if that’s what you’re scared of. Fury can throw me in prison or banish me or… I’m doing this.”

“Stark,” Natasha sighed, about to offer advice. Or warning. Then, abruptly, she changed her mind. “Do what you must. But before you go throwing your life away, you still owe me.”

It took Stark a moment to get over his surprise. “Okay? So what’s this favour?”

“King Thor is dead,” Natasha said, without preamble. “And I want to know who killed him.”

“What, more than one of your guys is asking for a raise?”

Natasha shook her head. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? It wasn’t one of ours.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised - weekly. Even though my work schedule is doing its utmost to steal all my writing time. Enjoy, my lovelies!

Loki leaned over the altar with his elbows on the maps. Odin’s icon lay face down on the flagstones at his feet. Tyr was still shuffling around the camp beside himself, and somewhere Loki was sure soldiers were wondering what their prince was doing with a sled stacked with snow and ice. But at least Tyr wasn’t the talkative sort when grieving. And soldiers would always wonder and grumble where Loki was involved.

He traced the paths of possible retreat on the map. Each seemed bleaker than the last. They didn’t have enough food to make the coastal route. And Fury would harry them along the flat floodplains if they followed the river home. Time and again his fingers landed at the same narrow mountain pass. Vigrid. The narrowest pinch in the border. The closest way home. It wasn’t more than a two day march from their camp, and Loki knew the pass itself could be crossed in a single long summer afternoon.  
But this wasn’t summer hunting with their father. The cold was bitter on the mountain, the wind biting. The snow blinding. And if the weather didn’t hold… Loki forced himself to breathe. He had greater faith in the wind than he did in his troops is they found out their king was dead. If they knew it was only Loki leading them. He’d heard them whisper. He knew they whispered, even if he couldn’t hear it. How could they not? How often did a prince speak out against the crown? And how often did he change his tune so quickly? Each side had called him traitor. Along with trickster. Liesmith. Coward.

The map crumpled in his hand, the mountains curling in on themselves between his fingers. Coward. He could still feel his sister’s sneer. Slowly, he forced his hand open. He smoothed out the creases he’d left in the map. It would have to be the mountains. 

Loki straightened his coat and headed out the door. If he could gather together his generals to hear the grim news, they’d be on the road by morning. Without the sounds of battle the camp seemed deathly quiet. The snow muffled Loki’s footsteps and the snores of the soldiers. It didn’t muffle the scream.

“Please! Please, I already told him! I don’t know anything!” The boy’s accent wasn’t Asgardian. And he sounded too young for a soldier. Reluctantly, Loki followed the cries.

“Come on, boy. On your feet!”

“Please” the boy sobbed. “Wait, no! Please, please. I only…” It ended in a scream. Loki quickened his pace. He found them in the remnants of a courtyard. The boy lay on his belly, hands bound in front of him. He tried desperately to crawl away from the two soldiers. He didn’t get farther than a foot before on the men stepped on the small of his back. The boy whimpered as they jerked his head up by the hair. Loki saw the blood streaming over his eye from the gash where he’d hit the ground.

“Please,” the boy sobbed, looking up at him.

“Men!” Loki barked. He stomped into the courtyard, commanding confidence he did not feel. “What is this?” He peered down his nose at the boy. He hoped it looked disdainful.

“Your Grace!” the first soldier – a sergeant, Loki noted, by the patch stitched on his shoulder – spoke. At a cough from him, his fellow gave a perfunctory bow. “A spy, your Grace.”

“Found him this morning,” the second soldier supplied. “Didn’t have much to say to the Field Marshal. So we’re to see what he has to say to us.”

Loki raised a hand to silence them. “The Field Marshal? Heimdall ordered you to beat him to death out here in full view of the camp?”

The soldiers eyed each other sheepishly. “We have our orders, your Grace,” the sergeant said at last. Loki stiffened at his easy tone.

“And?” he snapped. “Must I have you whipped to hear them?”

“No, your Grace,” the sergeant replied calmly. “We’re to finish question him, you Grace, and lock him in one of these cellars. To hold until the Field Marshal can decide what’s to be done with him.”

“And this house?” Loki gestured. “It doesn’t have a cellar?”

“Surely does, your Grace.”

“Then? You think it does the men good to hear his screams halfway across the camp?”

“He was resisting, your Grace,” the second soldier said. This time he couldn’t quite hold back a smirk. Loki’s stomach turned. The snow where the boy lay curled up was turning pink.

“Your names?” Loki said curtly. “Ranks and units?”

“Surtr,” the young soldier answered. “Private, with the Field Marshal’s fifth.” He paused, watching Loki’s expression expectantly. 

Loki’s pulse raced. He tried to speak but only managed a cough. The air caught in his throat. “Is that its new name?” he managed at last. “The old one had a better ring to it. Though I doubt there’s many left that remember it.” He turned to the sergeant. “You?”

“Sergeant Fenris, your Grace,” the older one said softly. He met Loki’s eye. “Of the Liberty Brigade. For five days and for always. Your Grace.”

Loki’s hands were shaking. He clasped them tight behind has back until he felt his knuckles pop. “On with your orders then, Fenris. That house over there.” He nodded towards the cellar door. He waited until both soldiers bent to pick up the boy before continuing. “Surtr!” Surtr dropped the boy’s arms and straightened up, scowling. “Go fetch your Field Marshal here,” Loki ordered. “Then find the lord-generals Tyr, Njordr and Baldr and have them sent to the king’s headquarters.”

“Yes, your Grace,” Surtr said tersely. 

Fenris pulled the boy to his feet as Surtr left the courtyard. Loki followed them down the damp stone steps into the cellar. “Keep watch at the door,” he told Fenris as the sergeant finished looping the boy’s ties around a squat post in the corner.

“Your Grace,” Fenris replied, tugging the knot tight. “The Field Marshal ordered me not to let the boy out of sight.”

“And I order you to stand guard,” Loki fumed. “Did they only shoot those of the Liberty Brigade with ears?”

“No, your Grace,” Fenris said gruffly. “They drew lots. On the gallows. With the ropes already round our necks. And it was half of us got our freedoms that day.”

“Death’s no freedom.” Loki’s voice was hollow. Fenris shook his head stubbornly.

“You used to say different then. I remember the speeches.”

“You’d do better to remember what came after.”

Fenris was silent for a moment. “With respect, your Grace,” he said at last, in the same soft tone he’d used before. “If I don’t remind myself of the speeches, nothing of what came after makes much sense at all.”

Before Loki could reply, Fenris saluted, clicked his heels and headed up the stairs. Loki ran a hand over his eyes, sighing. Then he turned to the prisoner. The boy was still sniffling, but his bleeding at least had stopped.

“So what is it Fury told you to find?” Loki began calmly. The boy jumped.

“I was only out for firewood,” he mumbled, eyes downcast. “Honest.”

Loki shook his head. “I thought spies made better liars. Now?” The boy only shivered. Loki crouched down beside him. “Do you have a name, boy?”

“Peter,” he answered hesitantly.

Loki nodded. “And do you know me, Peter?”

The boy shrugged. “You’re the new king,” he whispered. Loki schooled his face to blankness.

“That’s one way to put it. Peter, look at me.” The boy looked up. Arms open and hands empty, Loki forced a small smile. “Do I seem like the sort to get my hands dirty? Do you think I want to hurt you?”

“No?” Peter asked. Almost hopefully. Loki struggled to keep his tone sincere.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Peter,” he said. “I just want answers. But there’s many here that want nothing more than to hurt you, no matter what you say or how loudly you scream. And if you tell me nothing,” Loki added sadly. “I won’t be able to stop them.” 

“I don’t know anything,” Peter said desperately.

“You heard some rumour of the king’s death and thought to come see for yourself?”

“I don’t know anything!” Peter repeated. “Please, I wasn’t even supposed to be here! I was just following my…” he trailed off. His eyes drifted to a point behind Loki’s shoulder. Then they went wide. “Mr. Stark!”

“Your Mr. Stark?” Loki frowned. But Peter wasn’t looking at him anymore. Loki turned, springing to his feet. A blacked beam connected with his jaw. He fell back with a cry. Loki landed on the floor beside the post. The man standing over him – presumably, Mr. Stark – raised the beam again.

“And stay down,” he started to warn. Loki launched a kick at his knee. It hit, but only just. Stark stumbled. He swung the beam to strike again. This time Loki saw it coming. Staggering to his feet, he caught the blow on his forearm. He didn’t wait for Stark to swing again. Ducking forward, Loki threw an elbow at Stark’s throat. Stark choked and gasped and Loki struck his jaw. The beam fell as Stark tried for a haymaker. Loki sidestepped the punch. The swing of it left Stark off balance. Loki’s boot to the back of his knee finished the job. Stark hit the ground headlong at Peter’s feet.

Wincing, he rolled onto his back in time to see Fenris racing down the cellar stairs. Still dazed, Stark scrambled to his feet. It gave Fenris just enough time to draw his pistol.

“Hold!” Fenris barked. Stark met his eye. He sprang forward, reaching for the gun. Fenris fired, but Stark dodged the bullet. The pistol clattered to the floor as the two men came to blows. Stark struck first, trying to push through Fenris and out the door. He made it only to the bottom step before the sergeant pulled him back. In the flurry of fists and teeth that followed, neither man noticed Loki reach for the gun.

“Enough!” he bellowed. “Stark, enough!” At the sound of his name, Stark froze just long enough for Fenris to land a punch. The force of the blow spun him around and he found himself facing Loki. And Peter. And saw the barrel of the gun between them. “Enough,” Loki repeated softly. He pressed the pistol to Peter’s temple. The boy was crying. Stark breathed a curse.

“Kneel,” Loki ordered. Stark’s jaw tightened, but he started to comply. Fenris knocked him down the rest of the way. 

“The kid doesn’t know anything,” Stark panted as he hit the ground. 

“He knows whatever route you took to get past our defences,” Loki said. “I’ve killed men for less. So, Mr. Stark, what shall it be? Your purpose here, or your young friend?”

“Okay, easy, easy!” Stark licked his lips. Then he gambled. “We didn’t come here to spy, alright? We came to warn you. Because now that the king’s dead, who do you think is next on the hit list? Or do you still think it was one of our guys made that shot?” 

He’d hoped Loki would lower the gun. He’d expected fear. Maybe a bit of anger. But Loki ignored Stark entirely. He was looking at Fenris.

“The king?” Fenris asked. 

“A rumour,” Loki answered. Too quickly. Fenris grabbed Stark’s collar, twisting the man’s neck back to face him.

“Is it true?”

Stark’s eyes rolled wildly, looking from Fenris to Loki. “You’re kidding me,” he groaned.

“Answer me!” Fenris growled, tightening his grip. Stark nodded without thinking, clawing at the soldier’s hands. The pressure loosened as Fenris let him fall to the floor. 

“The king is well,” Loki said firmly. “This man is either deceived or sent here to spread lies and confusion in our ranks.”

“That. Yeah, absolutely,” Stark said quickly. “Lies and confusion, I confess. I’m confessing! I’m,” he swallowed as Loki turned to glare. Footsteps on the cellar stairs turned both their heads towards the entrance. An instant later, Heimdall ducked through the low doorway.

“Your Grace,” he greeted Loki, before noticing Tony at his side. “Sergeant,” he turned to Fenris. “How is it your man only told me of one captured spy?”

“How is it your men failed to tell me of any spies at all?” Loki snapped before Fenris could answer. “What other secrets are you keeping for me, Heimdall?”

“Heimdall? As in Field Marshal Nornson?” Stark took a step forward, hand outstretched, only for Fenris to bar his way. Heimdall frowned.

“Have we met?”

“Not in person. Tony Stark,” he grinned. “I remember your name from our letters. That was the single biggest order for small arms I’d got since,” he thought for a moment. “No, biggest ever. Even King Odin – Allfather, whatever – even he never bought that many at once. And I had them done for you with almost a month to spare. Bit ironic, considering where those guns are pointed now.”

“Your countrymen can’t be taking too kindly to your dealings,” Heimdall grunted. “I wonder, did they send you here in hopes that our past business might win you some small mercies?”

“I’m pretty sure they’re hoping for the opposite,” Stark quipped. “Natalie – Natasha? She’s probably praying you’ll just shoot me in the head before I can go blabbing off about, well,” he chuckled softly. “I could go on about my work for hours – this new project? Heimdall, buddy, you’d love it. But, I mean, these conditions?” He made a show of appraising the cellar, and scrunched his nose eloquently. 

“Field Marshal,” Fenris said lowly. “You’ll want to listen to what this man has to say. He talked of a traitor, a murderer in – ” 

“Heimdall!” Loki interrupted. He took Heimdall by the arm, leading him away from Fenris. “This matter of spies… We cannot allow ourselves to be distracted. We must call the generals together. If we do not retreat before Vigrid snows in, or if Fury’s men attack,” Loki paused. “Talk to this man of weapons later if you must. Bring him back to Asgard if you must. But for now, I mean to make sure we have men left to wield weapons before this war is done. Am I clear?”

“Your Grace speaks wisely,” Heimdall’s answer was measured. “Pragmatically. I’ll send my men – ”

“Send Surtr,” Loki said quickly. “The other one should stay here. Guard the spies.”

Heimdall frowned, but Fenris said nothing, only gave a short bow. “As you wish, your Grace,” Heimdall sighed. At a gesture from him Surtr hurried up the stairs. Loki held out his hand. 

“The key,” he said to Fenris.

“Your Grace?” Fenris stammered.

“Loki,” Heimdall cajoled him.

“The key,” Loki repeated, ignoring them both. He didn’t need to add the threat. Heimdall saw his shoulders twitch with tension. Behind Loki’s back, he nodded at Fenris. Reluctantly, the sergeant pulled the cellar key off his belt and handed it to Loki. The moment it was in his hand, Loki darted up the stairs. Heimdall followed as quick as he could. The heavy doors clipped the hem of his jacket as Loki slammed them shut. 

“Loki, what is this?” Heimdall panted as the lock clicked. Loki slipped the key into his boot. 

“He knows. About Thor. The spies do, too.”

“You didn’t lock up the other two fellows. Korg and his friend,” Heimdall pointed out. “Should I have them brought here as well. Or is it just my men you won’t trust?”

“You weren’t planning on telling me about the spy.”

“As much as you planned to tell me Thor was dead,” Heimdall retorted. “Or did you think you were the only one who’d want to mourn his death?”

“You?” Loki scoffed. “Mourning the death of the king?”

“Or a friend,” Heimdall stressed. “Who had the misfortune of being a king.” Loki said nothing. His knuckles, still raw, were starting to smart. “There’s still time,” Heimdall reminded him. “Announce his death, sit on the throne long enough to sign the constitution, and arise a free man. In a free Asgard. Loki,” he implored. “I’ve known you too long to believe you want a throne.”

“Hela does,” Loki insisted. “And there are men enough who’d back her claim and risk her hand in marriage if bought them power absolute. Or did you think I brought Baldr with us for his courage and good company?” He rubbed his eyes, willing the world away. 

“The people of Asgard,” Heimdall said. “They’re a good people. They won’t abide a creature like Hela on the throne.”

“Then how did Odin come to reign?” Loki laughed desperately. “I must rule, Heimdall. So that she does not. Do you understand? And if I am to best her, I cannot be ruled by a people’s court.”

Heimdall shook his head in disbelief. “Will you next tell me how your subjects are like children, lost and wandering without a king to guide them?” Heimdall’s mouth hung open for a moment after the words had left it, as though he’s surprised himself with them. Loki glowered with murder in his eyes. “I do not speak to you to hear your father’s words,” Heimdall added gently. Loki was not calmed.

“No,” he agreed acidly. “You want to hear the Silvertongue. You want to hear me rail against all the noble houses of Asgard and blacken my family’s name. To bring people out onto the streets to stand between you and Hela so that the sound of their cheering might drown out the thunder of her guns.” 

“The people are already in the streets,” Heimdall argued. “Still repeating snatches of your speeches. I’m not asking you to lead another revolution. I’m only asking you to stay out of the way.”

Loki knew he ought to nod, to say the expected words and bide his time. But his neck felt somehow still. His tongue too heavy. His silence weighed on them a moment too long. Heimdall bowed his head.

“I see,” he whispered. “What now? Will you call the generals and have me locked away? Dragged home in chains? Or am I not to go home at all?”

Loki shook his head. “Enough games,” he sighed. “Your men would riot if I touched you. And though you’ll not believe me, I want all of us to see our homes again. I may not have done enough to stop this war from starting, but I have done everything I could to end it. I won't now let our private war stand in the way.”

“Noble of you, your Grace.” Heimdall gave a short, formal bow. “I’ll take my leave. Try and rest while the generals collect their wits.”

“It’ll be a long night’s sleep then,” Loki said lightly. Heimdall didn’t smile. Loki felt fear gather in his gut as he watched him leave the courtyard. He couldn’t tell if it was Stark’s talk of a traitor that brought it on, or the fire he’d seen in Heimdall’s eyes. Or hearing Natasha’s name again. Not Auntie Nat or Tasha in children’s sing-song voices. Natasha. He wouldn’t sleep tonight, that much he already knew. Red hair would tangle in his dreams and he’d taste her kisses. Just once more. Just before he heard his children scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... guess I'm gonna have to add that BlackFrost tag at some point now. Though don't worry - we're not done with the Loki & Tony interactions just yet. Not even close. Thoughts? Theories? Comments bring me joy, and joyful me brings you more convoluted plot to read!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I ended up splitting this week's chapter in two, because it was getting a little long. Enjoy some of Loki's bad decisions and a brief foray into Natasha's twisty brain. Comments are wonderful and beautiful, and sometimes help remind me not to get lost in subplots (thanks kosatli!) Now back to the story:

It was already dark outside, and the light in the first man’s hand was blinding. “Korg!” Fenris exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “Thank the Norns. Did Surtr tell you…?” he trailed off as the second man came into view. Loki’s face was gaunt in the firelight. 

“The boy,” he gestured. Korg set the lantern down and started working at Peter’s bonds.

“What,” Tony shifted to look over his shoulder, never minding the raw rub of the ropes. “What do you want him for?”

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s voice rose in spite of himself as Korg pulled him to his feet. He was shaking, badly. He stumbled on the stairs, bumping into Korg and the lantern with a clatter.

“Loki!” Stark shouted, still trying to see. “If you hurt that kid, so help me god, I’ll – ”

“Save your threats,” Loki cut him off. “I’ll see to it the boy isn’t harmed. On my honour.” He paused. “On my son’s life,” he added. Stark was silent.

“Good enough,” he said at last. 

Korg and Peter were waiting in the courtyard when Loki emerged from the cellar. The wind was blowing hard enough to near put out the light.

“Where to, your Grace?” Korg called over the din.

“That’s for the boy to say,” Loki turned to Peter. “Go on then, show us your path past the guards.”

Peter shook his head. “I can’t take you into the city. I won’t.”

“I doubt your employer expected you to break through the siege yourself,” Loki said. “There is a meeting place, is there not? Somewhere outside the walls where Romanova said she’d be?” Peter nodded hesitantly. “Then lead us there.”

They crept through the camp, stopping now and again to hide from the night patrols. At first, Peter thought it was because of him that they were skulking like thieves. But at the sounds of each guard’s footsteps Loki was the first to duck out of sight, head tucked low behind his stiff collar. Loki was the one who held his breath as they climbed through the trenches onto the battlefield, and it was Loki who kept glancing over his shoulder as they started their careful crossing to the shadow of the city wall.

With his hands still bound and Korg’s lantern burning so low, it was a wonder Peter didn’t stumble before he did. But a short gasp from Loki as he heard the voices of the night patrol distracted him, and a sharp jerk on the rope stole his balance. His feet found black ice and he fell with a thud. Behind them, the patrol's voices turned quiet. Loki and Korg dropped to their bellies, not caring a bit for the muck. Peter tried to turn his head to see their faces. Instead, raising his cheek from the snow he found himself nose to nose with a corpse. The soldier’s eyes were still open, his lips locked in a frost-laced scream. A bayonet had left a deep gouge in his cheek. Peter would have cried out, but Loki clapped a hand over his mouth. The prince shook his head. Peter swallowed his panic and breathed like a rabbit until the patrol passed them. Only then did Loki let his hand slip.

It took Peter a few moments to find his voice. “Don’t you bury your dead?” he asked hoarsely. He glanced up and down the field as he stood. He hadn’t noticed them before – maybe Mr. Stark had led him down a different path. Here the bodies lay thick, some where they had fallen, some stacked in frightful mounds. 

“The ground’s too cold,” Korg supplied softly. “Couldn’t dig them graves, even if they stopped shooting from the wall.”

“Quiet,” Loki hissed. “Or it’s us that’ll be lying here unburied.” Roughly, he pushed Peter forward. “Lead on. Romanova’s waiting.”

***

“Clint, sit down,” Natasha sighed, leaning back against the broken doorframe. “Or I’ll start getting nervous.” Clint’s pacing echoed up and down the floor of the abandoned shop. Just out of sight of the gunner’s turret and flush against the city walls it offered a clear line of sight to the little lights of the Asgardian camp.

“Nervous?” Despite the cold, Clint was sweating. “Any Asgardian could walk in here – “

“That’s rather the point.”

“Yeah? And have you explained your brilliant plan to Rogers and his boys up on the wall? Or are they gonna open fire on us the second they see us talking with the enemy?”

“He might not be our enemy,” Natasha said softly. “Not if he killed his own king.”

Clint scoffed at that. “And what, Stark is supposed to bring him out here? Convince him to talk to us like friends? Stark?” His tone was beyond disbelieving. “Three words out of that man would make a deaf-mute scream.”

“Don’t be foolish.” Natasha gave a little half smile. Clint was not convinced.

“The kid, then? I know you know he snuck out after Stark. Lord knows why. Is he supposed to charm your murderer?”

As Clint passed her, Natasha reached out and grabbed his sleeve. “Sit,” she told him. Mercifully, he sat, and the pacing stopped. Natasha smoothed back her hair and crossed her legs. Her eyes scanned the battlefield as she spoke. 

“I didn’t pick Stark or the boy for their charm. They make abysmal spies. Stark,” she sighed, “likes to fancy himself a hero until the moment where it counts. Then he’ll run his mouth off – or run off himself, depending on his odds. And I’d hardly call Peter subtle or discrete.”

“Then why did you pick them?” Clint wondered.

“Because,” she smiled. “If I wanted a good spy I’d have done it myself. I want a commotion. Spies in the camp!” she exclaimed, feigning alarm. Miming chaos. “Captured – after starting a fight, most likely – spreading rumours of a murderer. Of a dead king.”

Clint frowned. “You think the army doesn’t know?”

“Have you seen mourning banners flying?” she countered. “Someone is keeping this quiet. Someone who is paying attention and would be a fool not to notice two captured spies revealing almost all his secrets.”

“Except the important one,” Clint huffed. “Maybe if I’d waited just a second I’d have seen his face. But I heard the shot and I fired. And it’s only after I pulled the trigger that I saw the king there. Hell, I’m not even sure I hit the guy. Wasn’t light yet, and the snow – if I grazed his arm, I’d call it lucky.”

“Come now,” Natasha said. Sweetly, so he knew she was lying. “When has the Hawk missed a shot? You probably got him through the throat.”

Clint sprang to his feet, unable to keep still. “Then what are we doing here?” he snapped. “We’re gonna get shot waiting for a dead soldier.”

“No,” Natasha shook her head. “It’s not some soldier we’re waiting for.” She uncrossed her legs and rose languidly to stand beside him. “Who kills a king?” she asked him. “Not the man who hold the gun. The man who stands to gain.” She pointed at the lights in the black. “That is the largest army Asgard has ever gathered. Veteran troops, loyal until death to King Thor. Willing to march on their own countrymen to avenge him. And they are but two days from their border, where an unpopular princess is trying to rule with an iron fist. I want to meet the man who plans to lead that army now. He’s the one who gave your soldier the gun.”

“Then why don’t you?” Clint asked her. Natasha glanced at him, blank faced. But her eyes were narrowed. Her head tilted to the left. She hadn’t expected that question.

“Why don’t I?” she repeated, playing for time.

“Why didn’t you go to the camp yourself, to meet him like you want to.” Clint watched Natasha’s tells vanish as she started planning her reply. “You see what other folks don’t, and read people quick. You’d find this ‘guy with the most to gain’ in an afternoon. Hell, you’d hardly need a disguise now Asgard’s got women in their army. So why this game with Stark?”

Clint saw her small half-smile. The easy way she straightened up, rolling her shoulders back. She gave him a look that said he was a fool for not figuring out the answer himself. “Stark’s not the sort of trouble I like to keep in my city,” she shrugged casually. “Sending him is a clean way to solve a stubborn problem.”

“Clean?” Clint laughed. He wished he didn’t sound hysterical. Still, it had the desired effect. Natasha’s calm demeanor cracked. “Nothing about this is clean,” he continued. “You don’t know if he’s caught or not. You don’t know who he’s talking to. You don’t even know if he’s alive or dead. First thing you ever taught me – the only way to keep a dirty job clean is to stay in control.”

Natasha crossed her arms. Her careful curls framed a well-trained face. “I’m out of control?” she asked dangerously. Clint wasn’t frightened or fooled.

“You sent Stark because you had no other options,” he guessed. “Because for some reason you can’t – or won’t – go into that camp yourself. Is there someone there that’s got the great Romanova spooked?”

“Then why didn’t I send you?” she asked, avoiding his question. Now it was Clint’s turn to grin.

“I’m not expendable.” He looked at her expectantly. Natasha raised a tidy brow. Clint’s grin faltered ever so slightly. “Right?” No answer. “Right?”

“Hush,” Natasha ignored him. She pressed herself against the doorframe. “Look.” Clint did, squinting into the black. A lantern flickered from the trenches.

“Is it them?” Natasha breathed.

“I see the kid,” Clint paused. “Not Stark though. Two Asgardians.” He reached for his knife. “This was a mistake.”

“Wait.” Natasha pulled a flint out of her pocket and struck it against the wall. The flame in the trenches turned towards the shower of sparks and a proud silhouette stepped forward. “Let’s meet our murderer.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm back. Work kind of consumed all my waking hours for the past two months and then some, but I managed to write a few more chapters and (hopefully) will have the whole thing posted by New Year's. Comments make me so happy and so productive, so if you want to know how the story ends it's a win-win. Up next: things get worse.

Natasha didn’t recognize him at first. For a few moments she could tell herself it was the darkness, but the closer the small party came the clearer Loki’s face became in the dim lanternlight. She couldn’t deny that it was him. Her belly filled with lead.  
“It seems we have an honoured guest.” The words came out hoarse and husky. She pitched her voice low to hide the shaking. If Clint noticed, he said nothing. His hand was still thumbing the hilt of his knife. Loki stopped a few paces away. His eyes searched the night until the spotted their shapes.

“Natasha,” he greeted. It hurt to hear her name in his mouth. Once, she might have called the pain guilt. “You’ve found yourself a clever on here,” Loki continued, nodding at Peter. The boy stood a few steps behind the two Asgardians, hands bound and head bowed low. “I pray you will not hold his leading us here against him.”

“Hardly.” Natasha slipped on a smile with practiced ease. “He played his part. Though I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting him to bring you.”

“Disappointed?” Loki asked lightly.

“No.” On impulse, she crossed the bit of night between them. It took all of Loki’s self-control not to flinch back when she reached for him. He gestured for the sergeant to stand down and stiffly bore her embrace until she let him go. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she told him. “And so, so proud of you for your gain.” She played with the tattered sleeve of his coat as she spoke. Loki jerked back when she pressed a bit too hard against a tear at his left shoulder.

“Stop,” he said softly. She did. “It’s the loss I cam to talk to you about. Peter tells me you saw an Asgardian kill my brother.” The sergeant gasped, and the little flame in the lantern shivered. Loki gave him a warning glance. “Steady, Korg,” he said lowly.

“It’s the truth,” Natasha confirmed. “The Hawk saw it happen, clear as he can see you now.”

“The Hawk?” Loki frowned. Natasha beckoned Clint forward.

“You’ve heard his name, I’m sure.” 

“Often.” Loki studied Clint’s face. “You’ve cost me more men that I thought I could lose,” he told him.

“Shouldn’t have brought them here if you didn’t want to lose them,” Clint said coldly.

“I did not bring them here,” Loki snapped. “Thor did. And the sooner I learn what befell him the sooner my men and I will be gone. So tell me, what did you see?”

Clint looked to Natasha. At a short nod from her, he began. “There were two men, walking along the east trench there. Talking. Couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I could hear their voices get louder when they started arguing. It was still dark, but I could see the red cloak and the Odinson crest. And I could see the king’s face plain as day in the light when the pistol fired.”

“And the second man?” Loki’s mouth was dry. “Did you see his face?”

“I did,” Clint said, uncertainly.

“And?” Loki prompted as the silence dragged on. “Was he dark, fair? Young or old?”

“Loki,” Natasha interrupted him. “Enough games. I know. The Hawk has seen enough, and you coming out to find me here tonight has chased away what doubts I had.” Loki paled. He opened his mouth to speak but the words stuck in his throat. “And I understand,” Natasha assured him. “You did the right thing and spared us all a second Odin. The ugly details of how and when and why can stay between us –” She faltered at the fury twisting Loki’s face. He leaned closed enough that she felt his strained breath on her cheek. She wanted to run.

“There is nothing,” he hissed, “between us. Back then at least there were the lies. We shared such lovely lies,” he marvelled, advancing on her. “How we both loved freedom and chaos and change and tomorrow. How you loved me, how I loved my wife. And how all of us loved Vali and Narvi so terribly well.” Natasha slipped back through the snow until her heels met the doorstep. “I thought – hoped – that one was true enough, at least. That maybe one time you could lie for them.” 

“I didn’t know what he’d do.” Natasha pressed her hand to her mouth as if to clap the words back in. Loki stopped. “I didn’t know.”

“Tell me you’d have done different if you had,” Loki demanded, leaning over her. “Lie to me.” She couldn’t. Not again. His hand struck the doorframe beside her head. Natasha flinched. Clint drew his knife. 

“Don’t,” she ordered, but Loki had already seen the gleam of the blade. He whirled around, drawing his pistol and aiming it point blank at Clint’s head.

“Your Grace, the sentries,” Korg warned, but Loki no longer seemed to care. He pulled the trigger. In the same instant, Peter lurched forward. The rope slid from Korg’s slackened grasp and the boy rammed his shoulder into Loki’s arm, sending the shot wide. It struck the doorframe and sent brick and stone shards flying. The weapon slipped from Loki’s grasp as Peter barrelled past him, racing for Clint and Natasha and the safety of the walls. Loki only just managed to duck into the doorway before Rogers’ sentries sent down a hail of warning shots. The bobbing lights of the Asgardian night watch stopped and fired off an answering volley. Calling for Korg to follow him, Loki ducked low and raced blindly through the crossfire until he reached the relative safety of the eastern trench. 

He realized too late that he was alone. Smoke filled the air. And the noise. He could hear trumpets, though he knew no trumpets played. Boots marching. He heard the orders over and again in his head. Run. Split up. Muskets ready. Fire. Reload. Advance. Fire. Run. Back to camp. Fire. Advance. His legs were water. He couldn’t stand. 

Loki crawled quick as he could along the frozen trench. At each gunshot, each footfall, each flicker of torchlight he pressed his belly against the snow, not daring to breathe. If Rogers’ men spotted him, at least he knew the worst they’d do was shoot. If Surtr did… With dawning dread, Loki realized he couldn’t say. Had they heard Natasha? Had they recognized the Hawk? Suddenly the wall of the trench along his right shoulder disappeared. He felt the dirt crumble at the opening. A sapper’s tunnel. Silently, he thanked the Norns and slid inside. He tumbled down two shallow steps and landed in the tunnel proper. It was stifling – too low to stand straight, barely wide enough to turn around Not two paces out the walls had caved in. Loki forced himself to slow his breathing. He only needed to stay here a little while. Until Surtr left and the guns stopped firing. Inch by inch, he turned around until he could see a sliver of snow and starlight above him. The battlefield overhead rumbled, and little colds of earth fell on the price’s head. Loki leaned back against the collapsed wall, sighing. Then the wall gasped. And moved.

“Nidhogg’s balls!” a woman’s voice cursed as Loki scrambled up. He hit his head on the ceiling and fell back down again, landing face to face with her. 

“Who’s there?” she barked. Her breath came in painful starts and stops. Now with his back to the tunnel door, Loki could just make out her shape against the earthworks. “What are you?” she hissed. “Asgardian? Or one of Fury’s bastards?”

“Asgardian,” Loki whispered, raising his hands.

“May the Allfather watch and keep you,” she breathed, relieved. “Valkyrie, Private with Lord Baldr’s third.” She waited expectantly. Loki coughed.

“Sergeant Fimafeng,” he lied. “With His Majesty’s first. Are you with the night’s watch, soldier?” he added, in a harsher tone. He heard Valkyrie’s breathing falter.

“No, sir,” she began. Loki figured a proper sergeant wouldn’t give her the chance to finish.

“What are you doing out of camp then, soldier?”

“I’m stuck, sir,” she admitted. Squinting, Loki saw her leg disappear under the rubble. “Cave in, during yesterday’s attack. Please – ” A rattle of gunfire cut her off. “I can’t reach where it’s pinned me.”

For one guilty moment, Loki thought of leaving. Sneaking back to the camp alone. No one would find her before the retreat began, and Skurge would tell any who asked that Loki had spent the night in the church. Korg might talk, but who would take a sergeant’s word over a prince’s? Over the king’s? He’d be safe. But no one would find her.

“Don’t move,” he whispered, hating that he’d thought to leave her trapped and alone in the cold and the dark. And hating that he hadn’t the stomach to act on the thought. He shifted until he sat nearly beside her and started digging.

“Thank you, sergeant,” she breathed. Then winced as Loki jerked her leg.

“Easy,” he said softly. He tugged again. This time Valkyrie choked back a sob. “Almost there.”

He crawled around to her front and grabbed her under the arms. Valkyrie bit down on her shirt collar to keep from screaming as he pulled. The wall trembled as she slipped free. She landed in a heap on Loki and they waited, frozen, for the rest of ceiling to fall in. But it held. Valkyrie let out a shaky, desperate laugh. “Urdr’s sagging tit,” she sighed, rolling onto the bottom step. Gingerly, she started feeling her leg for breaks. Loki wiped his brow. Then sniffed. He smelled blood on his hand.

“Are you wounded?” he asked.

Valkyrie paused and carefully rolled her left shoulder. “Mmmm-!” she hissed. “It’s opened up again.”

“Can you climb out?” Loki worried. He should have left her in the wall. Valkyrie glanced up the steps. 

“I think so, sir,” she answered. “Just a bad scratch, is all. I’ll manage.”

“Here, let me.” Loki reached for her arm. Valkyrie flinched back.

“I said I’ll manage, sir,” she repeated sharply. “If you’ll keep you hands to yourself.”

“You’re hurt,” Loki snapped. “I’ll wager your ankle’s broken, too. So now I’m saddled with you, let me help you.”

Reluctantly, she did. Loki slid behind her and pushed her up through the narrow entrance. It wasn’t much brighter than in the tunnel, but by the dark stains spreading on the snow Loki could tell Valkyrie was worse off than he’d thought. 

“Just a scratch,” he huffed. “And you’ve been stuck down there since the last charge?” Valkyrie grunted in agreement. Loki shook his head. “Where do they find women like you?”

“Good and drunk in the wrong man’s bed,” she quipped. “My luck made him a recruiting sergeant.”

He laughed a little laugh at that, in spite of everything. It sounded too loud in the suddenly silent night. “They’ve stopped shooting,” he noticed. “If we hurry,” he paused. Valkyrie was trying to stand, braced against the side of the trench. He saw the moment her leg gave way and only just caught her before she fell.

“Easy,” he told her, slinging her good arm over his shoulder. “Just keep you head low.”

She nodded, gritting her teeth. It was slow going limping up the trench. Loki could see the sky lightening by the time they reached the inner fortifications. With a final push they pulled themselves out of the trench and onto the Asgardian side of the line. Loki let himself lie back in the snow, panting.

“Thanks, sergeant,” Valkyrie sighed beside him. Loki sat bolt upright, remembering himself. He had to run. Back to the camp, before it was light enough for her to see him, before – 

“Nobody move!” The tell-tale click of four muskets loading echoed the shout. “Good,” Surtr continued from behind them. “Now hands up. Both hands,” he snapped, when Valkyrie couldn’t raise her left.

“Can’t move my arm, sir,” she gasped. Hearing her voice, Surtr gave a long, low, whistle.

“Got yourself one of the fighting ladies, then, soldier?” he called to Loki. “Clever to take her out here where the fellows won’t hear the moaning. Why don’t you run on back and leave the lady with us? Or are both of you deserters wanting for a hanging?”

Carefully, Valkyrie reached her bad arm under her jacket. Loki, scanning the dark for some escape, did not notice until too late the pistol she was holding. Gritting her teeth, she rolled onto her belly and steading the gun against the ground. Loki ducked only just in time to dodge Surtr’s warning shot.

“I said freeze!” Surtr bellowed. 

“Touch me and somebody gets shot!” Valkyrie shouted back. “You can lose your balls or walk away, your call!” Lowering her voice, she turned to Loki. “You have a gun?” He was about to nod when he felt the empty holster at his side. Damn. He shook his  
head. “What Norns forgotten sergeant doesn’t keep a gun?” she snapped.

“There’s four of us here, love!” Surtr called to her. “Put that gun down and we’ll make it good for you. Swear on the Allfather’s balls!” he laughed. In response, Valkyrie fired. Her aim was low, but good enough to set Surtr yowling.

“Move along!” she shouted. And with scuffles and curses they did. The sky was growing brighter, and soon it was bright enough for Loki to see that they were alone. He breathed a sigh of relief. Beside him, Valkyrie frowned.

“What?” he asked. With a sinking feeling he realized it was light enough to make out the curious expression on her face.

“Nice coat,” Valkyrie commented. “For a sergeant.” Loki stiffened. “What was your unit, you said? His Majesty’s fourth?”

“First,” he corrected, trying to sound certain. It only seemed to make her more suspicious. He stood abruptly, turning his back to her. “Can you make it back to the camp from here?”

“Sure,” she said. “Only help me stand up.” 

Reluctantly, he bent down and gave her his arm. She twisted her fingers in the fabric of the coat and grabbed his collar tight, pulling him close until they were face to face. It was light enough now that he could see the surprise rippling her features.

“Your Grace?” she breathed. Her grip loosened just enough for him to break free and leave her reeling. Loki heard the snow crunching after him as she started to follow, and picked up his pace. Soon enough the footsteps slowed. Then stopped. He hurried through the waking camp alone, making for the church. 

He expected to find the doors barred and the chapel empty. Maybe Skurge asleep on the stair. But Skurge was nowhere in sight, and the guards who stiffly flanked the door did not so much as bow to him when he passed by. Heimdall’s angry voice echoing inside the church went quiet at Loki’s entrance. Baldr barely managed to school his features into something appropriately grim. Grizzled old Njordr was quicker, and elbowed Freyr who hadn’t been quick enough. Only teary-eyed Tyr had nothing to hide. The generals were waiting, watching as Loki made his way up to the altar. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they were waiting for him to fall.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I fell behind on posting a little bit (shocking, I'm sure), but the writing has continued. Enjoy small stack of chapters before the New Year!

Dawn was creeping up on them, and Heimdall was still talking. Njordr had long since given up on reasoning with the man, and focused instead on keeping his son Freyr from toppling over altar pieces at each mention of the word ‘constitution’. Tyr only nodded along miserably, too lost in his grief for the death of his king to care much what came after. Baldr glanced up from his idle pacing at an apparent pause, but the Field Marshal was only catching his breath. He was back at it before any of the generals had managed to get a word in edgewise.

“I have said it once,” he growled, impatient, “and I will say it again. And again, and again and a thousand times again. This army answers to me. These men follow me. Not the crown, not any Odinson.” He glared across the paper-strewn altar. Coolly, Baldr met his gaze. “Not you.”

Freyr leapt forward at once, shoulders squared and a hand on his sword, and even old Njordr seemed ready to spring to his defence. “You dare –” 

“Easy,” Baldr said. His voice – hardly more than a murmur – carried through the cloisters. It was enough to stop the generals where they stood. “We have played this game through the night, Field Marshal, and I am tired of watching you dance around your point. Let’s settle this matter. What is it you want?”

“A free Asgard.”

Baldr snorted. “I should specify. What can I give you that you will follow me? Is my word not enough?” Heimdall hesitated, choosing his words. “Oh, be blunt,” Baldr groaned. “We’re too far down this path now to play coy with one another.”

“Your word with your witnesses?” Heimdall shrugged at the three generals. “If you want me to be blunt – “

“Please.”

“I wouldn’t like to bet my life on them.”

Baldr ignored Njordr’s apoplectic sputter and the threats and gnashing teeth that Freyr contributed to the discussion. “Alright,” he agreed after a moment’s pause. Even Heimdall seemed surprised, and Baldr had to bite back a smile at that. He strode up to the altar and flipped one of the smaller maps onto its front. There was no ink, but the charcoal pencil in his pocket would do.

“It’s not as pretty as your constitution was, I’m sure,” he said, finishing off the three short lines. “But I’ll put my name and seal to it. Once I am crowned, Asgard will have a parliament. And I will be a king who’ll listen to his people. This I swear.”

“Then sign,” Heimdall said stiffly. 

“My lord,” Njordr cut in. “You cannot sign this! The risk if it should fall into Hela’s hands – ”

Baldr had already written his name. He finished the deed with candlewax and pressed his ring into the hot, white drop. “Surely you don’t think it’s riskier than treason,” he grinned. “We’re marching an army up to Hela’s door to ask for her hand in marriage. I doubt details about how I plan to rule will make much difference to her at that point.” He plucked the map off the table and handed it to Heimdall. “Keep this where you need to keep it, and know my word is good.” Heimdall took it, carefully, still not quite believing. “Now. Are you with me?”

“I – I’m with you,” Heimdall replied, tucking the page into his breast. 

“Excellent.” Baldr clapped him on the shoulder warmly. Behind them, they heard the heavy doors creak open. “Now just one sad matter left to settle.”

Loki came warily down the long aisle, his coat wet and grey in places with the snow. Heimdall could not meet his eye. 

“Generals, Field Marshal,” he greeted the assembly. “It seems I must beg pardon for my lateness. Though I cannot recall summoning you here at the very crack of dawn.”

“Forgive us,” Baldr said smoothly, stepping aside to make room for him on the dais. Loki noted the lack of a bow. And the absence of ‘your Grace’. “The news Heimdall gave us was too pressing to let lie until daybreak. And after all, we expected to find you in his quarters.” Baldr flashed him a knowing smile. “But I suppose even kings get restless.”

“You’ve all heard, then?” Loki turned to face the others. 

“We have,” Njordr said stonily. “We greet his passing with the deepest sorrow.”

Loki nodded grimly. “And we shall have time to mourn, but first we must attend to the living. We shall retreat, in greatest haste across the mountains. This order shall be said to come from King Thor, who has taken ill. I’ll will not see this retreat devolve into desertion. Do I have your accord?”

“How did he die?” Tyr’s voice was heavy. Tears hung in his eyes. Baldr leaned in to whisper in his ear but Tyr pushed him away. “I need to hear him say it,” he continued. “Or I won’t believe it.”

Loki felt the ground give way. He swallowed, looking from Heimdall to the scowling generals. “Heimdall has shown you the body, I’m sure,” he said. He hoped he sounded calm. “An enemy bullet – “

“Indeed, an enemy,” Baldr spoke over him. “An enemy our fair king once called brother.” He turned to Loki now, his eager eyes playing at sadness. “And one I once called friend.”

Loki fixed him with a murderous glare. “What lies are these?” he said tightly. It took all of his self-control not to turn on his heel and run off the dais, out of the church, out of the camp. He managed to keep his feet planted on the flagstones, reminding himself there was not surer way of showing guilt than running. And Tyr at least seemed unconvinced. And Heimdall – 

“I wish they were lies, Loki,” the Field Marshal said, and Loki could almost believe he sounded miserable. He was better at this game than Baldr.

“Heimdall, you cannot believe this. Look at me.” Loki stepped forward, and that was his mistake. At a wave of Baldr’s hand three guardsmen raced out from their post within the cloisters and surrounded the dais, dragging Loki back.  
“Off of me, off!” Loki barked, struggling against the strong hands holding him. “Treason!” He elbowed the guard in the gut and broke free long enough to lunge at Heimdall. “You stand by to hear such lies? You dare? For all the times you swore you’d see Odin’s head on a pike, or rather see Thor dead than king? And you call me traitor?”

“Where were you?” Heimdall asked simply. “The night of the murder, where were you?”

Loki’s mouth snapped shut. “Asleep.” Heimdall shook his head. 

“There are men who would say otherwise.” As if on cue, he gestured, and the doors to the side chapel opened. Out came Surtr and the men of the night patrol – and Korg. His head was bowed low, but when he glanced up nervously Loki saw the bruises forming and the blood drying under his nose.

“Tell us,” Heimdall prompted him. “As you told Lord Baldr and myself.”

Korg’s voice was quiet. “His Grace had me come with him last night. To the cellar where the spies were kept. Then he had the boy lead us to the walls, where the Hawk and a woman were waiting.”

“Romanova,” Heimdall said bitterly. Korg nodded.

“His Grace said he’d come to learn who,” he licked his lips. It was a heavy word. “Who murdered his Majesty. The Hawk said he saw it all. Saw his Grace fire the shot.” Now he straightened his spine and met Loki’s eye. “And your Grace did not deny it.”

“These,” Loki sputtered furiously. “Such accusations do not even merit denying. Least of all from a snake like Romanova.”

“So she is a snake now again?” Heimdall rounded on him. “But last night you trusted that witch’s word enough to brave the battlefield to learn what she had seen.”

“Witch, snake,” Baldr shrugged on the fringes of their argument. “Calling her names hardly lessens the quality of her information. If her word was good enough for the Allfather – may he lie in glory – it is more than good enough for me.”

“What Romanova says and what she knows are as far apart as two worlds can be,” Loki snapped. “And truth is farther from either of them still. If she tells you that I am a traitor, the only certain thing is that I am not.”

“Your guardsman Skurge corroborates this sergeant’s words,” Njordr accused. “You were not in your quarters the night our king was betrayed.

“And the snow!” Freyr added. He glanced at his father for confirmation. Njordr nodded discreetly. “The sergeant told us there was snow on your boots when he found you that morning.”

“Skurge slept through every night he guarded me,” Loki scoffed. “And there’s snow on each of your boots now, though I’m sure you’ve been in here plotting for hours!”

“We all heard you speak to Thor in anger,” Tyr said. A glance from Baldr helped him remember the rest. “You called our king, uh, an oaf. A baboon. A bloody-minded –”

“What else should I have called him?” Loki exploded. “Simpering out ‘Your Majesties’, grovelling,” he caught himself. Forced himself to swallow some measure of pride. They might yet be convinced. “I spoke to him in anger, yes,” he admitted. “He was my brother, and he made me angry. But never once did I go farther than angry words.” He wished he could have said the same for Thor. 

“Show us your arm, then,” Heimdall challenged. Loki gave him a blank look. “As the sergeant tells it, the Hawk shot our killer in the left arm. Just where you coat is torn, your Grace.”

“Just there?” Loki repeated shrilly. Korg started walking over with Peter in tow. “Just there? Did you shoot his shoulder, too?” He stuck a finger through a hole in the seam. “Or perhaps at his knee?” He held out another tear in the frayed fabric. “Am I a murder because I haven’t had a moment’s rest to mend my coat?”

“Then let us see,” Baldr pressed him. The generals muttered their agreement. Loki was already scoffing, already reaching for the top button of his coat when he stopped. He looked at their faces. These weren’t men looking for the truth, he realized. They already had one – a convenient truth to which they’d all agreed. And all the rest was show.

“Was it you?” Loki turned to Baldr. “Did he know it was you, when he was dying? Or did you send some faceless man to do the job? And Heimdall, did you know? Or did you do worse than know? You owe him your life. Every day you’re alive to plot your little coup you owe to him! Remember that when you’re washing my brother’s blood off your hands.”

Heimdall’s face contorted as he stepped down off the dais. Waving away the generals he drew up so close that Loki could see his lip twitching. Could smell his breath and sweat.

“I would sooner slit my own throat,” he said fiercely, “than raise a hand against Thor.”

“And you think I wouldn’t?” Loki threw back. He wanted to hear him admit the game. 

“I do,” Heimdall said sadly. Honestly. “What’s one more betrayal?”

“Blame me all you want for what I did then, but you know I didn’t do this. Heimdall,” Loki’s voice grew frantic as the guards dragged him away. “Heimdall, tell me who did this. Let me go!” he barked. Surtr only held him tighter. 

“Peace, please,” Baldr sighed. He turned back to the generals. “We must discuss our planned retreat. And we must be quick, before Fury finds out we haven’t got a good horse left or food enough to get us halfway home. So, the mountains –” He looked to Heimdall.

“Baldr, listen to me! He’s not leading a retreat!” Loki shouted before the Field Marshal could so much as speak. “I know him better than any of you, and the only king he loves is crownless, throneless and dead! He’s leading you into another war, only this time against your sons and nephews and fathers and any other man my sister can raise. Listen, damn you!”

But Baldr turned away. Tyr and Freyr stared stone faced at the map. Njordr might have said something well-meaning, but by then Loki was out of the church and dragged down the steps through the gathered crowd. The soldiers’ curious stares lanced through him. Distantly, he knew Surtr was listing his crimes and announcing their retreat, but he lost the words in the hum of the crowd. There was no hiding Thor’s death now. Not when they’d found someone to blame. Loki watched the soldiers’ faces change as they heard the news. The first lump of snow missed, but the next one didn’t. There was a splinter of stone in the third. Loki ducked his head when it hit his cheek. The snow dripped pink down his face, leaving a thin trail behind them as Surtr led the way to the cellar door. 

Loki had stopped trying to fight, but Surtr still felt the need to shove him down the stairs. He landed hard on his hands and knees.

“Where’s Peter?” Stark asked the moment Loki raised his head. He didn’t have an answer. In truth, he’d all but forgotten the boy. Stark started struggling against his bonds, trying to turn around and face him. “Hey! I asked you a question! Where is he?” Loki knew that desperate tone. 

“I don’t know,” Loki bit out. 

“Quiet,” Surtr barked, coming down the stairs. Fenris, already on his feet, hurried across the room to greet him. “What’s the word?” he asked, clasping his comrade’s hand.

“Odin’s eye, you’re cold!” Surtr exclaimed. “Let’s get you out of here, Sergeant. See if we can find a decent meal. Field Marshal’s orders.”

“And his Grace?” Fenris nodded at Loki, who’d managed to stand. He stiffened when Fenris approached him.

“Killed the king. Says the Field Marshal anyway. That’ll have every free man and every pretty girl in Asgard dancing to hear it,” he chuckled. By the look on Fenris’ face, Loki half expected the man to strike him. And half expected him to laugh. He hadn’t yet decided which would be worse when Fenris extended a hand.

“I’d rather thank any other man than you, even the Hawk,” he said sincerely. “But you’ve done what none of us dared do. And it’s not enough to get me to stop cursing your name. But thank you.”

“Save your thanks,” Loki spat. Fenris pulled his hand back. “Go find the murderer, shake his bloody hand and sing his fucking praises through the streets so I know who to kill when I get the chance.”

Surtr pulled Fenris back before he could reply. “Leave it, Sergeant,” he said. “Let’s get back.”

Fenris seemed ready to argue, but a cough distracted him. “Our deal?” Tony reminded him. Fenris nodded. 

“Untie him,” he ordered Surtr. “And get him a coat. The Field Marshal will want to speak with him.” Surtr hesitated a moment, but complied. Once Tony was free, Surtr turned to Loki. 

“Your coat,” he demanded. Loki sniffed, not deigning to reply. “You can hand it over,” Surtr continued. “Or I can come there and take it.”

“Look, my coat’s fine,” Tony called. “Let’s just get out – “

Surtr didn’t wait for him to finish. Loki doubled over from the blow to his gut. Surtr aimed a second strike at his side. The coat came off soon after. Tony eyed the fresh blood on the collar. “Put it on,” Surtr advised. “People won’t ask so many questions if you’re in the right colours. And it’s colder than Urdr’s tit out there.”

“Not any colder than in here,” Tony said, looking down at Loki. Still, he only hesitated a moment before putting on the coat and following Surtr up the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

“I don’t understand,” Peter said, sitting beside the fire in Clint’s kitchen. He fidgeted with the half-empty cup of ale in his hands. “You’ve told Fury they’re retreating, right? Just like I said?”

Across the narrow room, Natasha crossed her arms. “Just like you said,” she confirmed. 

“And you saw him when they marched out this morning. Right?” Natasha nodded stiffly. Peter turned to Clint.

“Sure did,” Clint grunted into his cup. “Riding up front like a lord on Prince Loki’s horse, wearing the prince’s coat.”

“Then it should be easy to get him back!” Peter exclaimed. “Look, Mr. Stark’s told them something to buy their trust, and he’s not heavily guarded. It shouldn’t take more than two or three men on fast horses.”

“Look who’s an expert on tactics all of a sudden,” Clint chuckled. “One night in a cellar and you think you’re the next Steve Rogers.” 

“I think,” Peter stressed, annoyed, “that that army has bigger things to worry about than one captive, whatever he promised them. Even if he is a master gunsmith. And that they’ve eaten most of their horses. We know where they’re marching. We’ve got a day before they’re in the mountains.” He stood, turning to Natasha. “Just go back to Fury and tell him to send a party. Please. He listens to you. And Mr. Stark – “ 

“Is no ordinary gunsmith,” Natasha said. “Is he? You’ve seen the steam engine, Peter. You’ve seen what it can do. And however easy it might be to get Stark back, you can be sure that Fury won’t want the man who built that device anywhere inside his city   
walls.”

“How can you say that?” Peter gasped. “As soon as it’s finished, Mr. Stark says it’ll be able to power the whole city. Boats, carriages, even things like looms and spinning wheels.”

“And what will the spinners do then, I wonder? And the weavers and drivers and boatmen? Stark’s little engine would be the death of this city. If Asgard wants such a contraption, all the better. And Stark himself is probably happier to go with them where he can do his work in peace.”

“But the engine is still here. And the plans.”

“Today, yes,” Natasha nodded. “And as far as anyone knows, so is Tony. Busy in his workshop. It’s a shame he won’t be able to leave before the fire spreads. I’m sure your aunt will understand if you need some time to mourn, and Clint has kindly agreed to let you stay here until she finds you lodgings for you both. Are we clear?”

“I don’t need time to mourn,” Peter snapped. Natasha rolled her eyes. Clearly, things were not clear. “Mr. Stark is a prisoner with the Asgardian army, heading for the Vigrid pass. You sent him out there to get rid of him, because you knew you couldn’t control him, but he’s alive. And I’m going to find him and bring him home and tell him what really happened to his workshop and his engine. And I don’t care how you try to stop me. I’ll go myself if I have to.”

“Kid, don’t be stupid,” Clint began. Peter stood, setting aside his cup.

“I’m not. I’m getting him back.” He took a step towards the door.

Something shifted behind Natasha’s eyes, though she said nothing at first. She stayed still, and watched him, and the longer she did the colder Peter felt his blood run. He half-expected Natasha to run at him, or a knife to come whistling towards his back. But Natasha didn’t move.

“Your aunt’s a widow, isn’t she?” Natasha watched Peter’s face harden. He opened his mouth to reply, but a discussion wasn’t what Natasha had in mind. “I think I met your uncle once. Ben Parker, was it? I’m sure he told you to be brave before he died.”

“He told me –” Peter began.

“And that’s what you’re trying to do now,” Natasha cut him off. “Brave little Peter.” She watched him fidget there in the doorway, his nose dripping from the draft. “Your uncle Ben was brave there at the end, I’m sure. And when they brought back the pieces that were left for your aunt to bury them, I’m sure they told her to be brave, too.”

“You leave Aunt May out of this!” Peter burst out.

“I can’t do that.” Now Natasha stepped forward, and each word brought her terribly closer to where Peter stood. “I can’t leave her out of this. Not when you’re all that she has left. And at least she had something of your uncle left to bury.” Natasha drew right up to Peter, and though he was very nearly a foot taller she loomed over him. She placed herself between him and the door. “If you go up that mountain, then either the winter or the Asgardians will kill you. Your aunt will never know what happened to you. Or even where to go to say goodbye.”

“But Mr. Stark –”

“He won’t come back here if you find him or not!” Natasha snapped. “There’s nothing for him here. The only thing he cares for is tomorrow, and having his name on the engine that powers it. He can’t have that here. And his dream isn’t worth your life.”

Peter was quiet, but just for a moment. His eyes flickered to the door. “I don’t know about anyone’s dream, or about what’s on that mountain. But I know one thing. What Uncle Ben told me... its not about being brave.” He was off, pushing past Natasha and running out into the street before she could get her balance back. Cursing, she stumbled out after him.

Midmorning filled the street with carts and crowds and bustle enough for a boy to get lost in. Natasha spotted Peter rounding the corner and sprinted across the boards bridging the muddy street. Peter ducked into a butcher shop to escape her, knocking over a tub of salt as he went. Natasha leapt over the spill and chased him out the back door into the narrow tanners’ street beyond. The smell made her retch as she raced down the narrow path. She could hardly see Peter through the thick smoke coming out of the shops. The street ended at the river, and by the time Natasha had slipped to a stop on a sodden coil of rope she knew she had lost him. She kicked at the slush and scanned up and down the bank for a glimpse of Peter’s face between the low boats and shipping crates. Nothing. Natasha struggled to catch her breath, but her heart kept right on racing. She had lost him. He was going to die on that mountain for Stark and she had let it happen. She spat on the ground, trying to get rid of a familiar bitter taste. 

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She pushed it away with a shout as she darted back and found her footing. One hand was already reaching for her knife before she recognized Clint standing in front of her.

“Nat!” He raised his hands. “It’s just me.”

“He’s gone,” she panted. “We’ll just have to stop him at the gate. He’ll use the same path I showed him last time to get past Rogers.” She walked briskly as she spoke, glancing over her shoulder to see if Clint was following. He wasn’t. “Hurry! If he makes it out of the city, we’ll have to meet him on the road to Vigrid.”

“You’re going to chase him into to foothills?” Clint jogged to catch up with her.

“I’ll chase him up the damned mountain if I have to.”

“Why?” Clint exclaimed, exasperated. He overtook Natasha and stopped in front of her, barring her way. “Why not let him go? He’s not your problem. Fuck, if anything, he’s a loose end. Let him look up the mountain – either he’ll come home or he won’t. It doesn’t matter!”

“It has to matter!” Natasha’s shout was loud enough to turn the heads of several passing fishermen. Clint was about to tell her she was mad. That she hadn’t been acting like herself since… The words were on his lips when he understood.

“This isn’t about Peter, is it?” he asked softly instead. “I just don’t get why it’s a stuck-up bastard like Loki that you feel guilty about, of all people. You’re easier to read than you think you are,” he added, gauging her surprised expression. 

“It’s not about him either,” she lied. Well, Clint amended, half-lied. 

“Then who are Vali and Narvi?” he challenged. Natasha’s face turned to stone.

“Clint,” she warned him. “We need to go. Peter –”

“No,” Clint said simply. 

“What, ‘no’?” Natasha frowned.

“This thing, cleaning red of your ledger or whatever. I’m not part of this,” he shrugged. “There’s no money, there’s no mission. There’s no reason to risk anything here.”

He let the busy noises of the docks drown him out then. Natasha waited only a moment. Then she nodded curtly and reached for her coin purse. “Your cut,” she said sharply. “I’ve told Fury to call you if he has more work, so you’re set even if I don’t get back.”

“Nat –”

But she was already walking away. “You’re right,” she called over her shoulder. “There’s no reason for you to come. I’ll see you if I see you.” She raised a hand and slipped into the crowd. Clint let her go. He regretted it the moment she was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

It had started to snow the day before and had got no better in the night. Skurge squinted against the wind and the powder as he tried to keep his grip on the rope. 

“All I’m saying is,” he grumbled, “you could’ve given us some warning, is all.”

“I swore,” Korg snapped, struggled beside him at the second rope. “I’d not tell a soul. Man’s word is only as good as he keeps it.”

“Sure, sure,” Skurge grumbled. “Only if you’d said something, I wouldn’t have let us cook the pack horse if I’d known. Then maybe you and me wouldn’t be stuck pulling him, see?”

“Maybe if you saved your breath,” Korg growled, “I wouldn’t have to do all the work.” 

“Blame his lordship dragging his feet back there,” Skurge shouted. He jerked his head towards the yoke hanging in front of the sled. “His fault we’re in this mess at all.” 

Bolted into the yoke, his hands bound level with his neck, Loki said nothing. He kept his eyes and downcast and tried to follow the soldiers’ footprints, so as not to trip in the snow.

“Those five-day fuckers could help out, at least,” Skurge continued. “Or have their pet inventor build us something to carry him better.”

“Allfather,” Valkyrie hissed. She sat up in the sled beside the red bundle that had been Thor, wincing as each jerk of the rope jostled her splinted leg. “If all you’re gonna do is whine, piss of and spare us. We’ll find someone else to carry him.”

For a moment Skurge stopped walking. He looked down the narrow road behind him at the bundle strapped to the sled. Thor’s face was out of sight but Skurge could still picture him, furious and laughing and leading them in the charge. He flung the rope over his shoulder and pulled.

The army extended behind them perhaps another mile, walking two or three abreast up the steepening path. Heimdall rode at its head, with Tony on a black mare a few short steps behind. Halting at a bend in the road, Tony could just make out a farmstead in the distance hanging off the slope. Surtr’s scouting party waited at the gate. As he neared them, Tony saw the man standing in their midst, doing his best to block the road leading up to his home.

“I’ve already told you men, sir,” he called to Heimdall and they drew up. “I’ve got nothing for your army here. I told ‘em, search the house if they need, but they says to wait.”

“Shut it, Maximoff,” Surtr barked. “This is it, Field Marshal,” he told Heimdall. “Last farmstead before the border.”

“Thank you, Major,” Heimdall answered crisply. “Mr. Maximoff, I apologize for my men. We haven’t come for you supplies.” Maximoff relaxed visibly. “You know these mountains well?” Heimdall continued. Maximoff shrugged.

“Well enough, sir.”

“What say I paid you ten gold kronar for guiding us across? Five in your pocket now, and five once we’re through the Vigrid pass?”

“With respect, sir,” Maximoff laughed. “I’d say you’re mad. There’s rougher weather than this up there, and worse to come. Couldn’t pay me twenty kronar to leave my own four walls.”

Heimdall sighed. “I’d hoped you would say otherwise, Mr. Maximoff. Perhaps one of your kinsmen?”

“I live alone,” Maximoff said quickly. Heimdall shared a glance with Surtr and nodded. Two soldiers set off towards the house. Maximoff turned to follow them, but the click of Surtr’s musket loading froze him in place. 

“Hey,” Tony exclaimed, the only one surprised by the situation. “Heimdall, buddy, the man said no. We’ll just head farther down the valley. Fine someone else. Or – here, Max. Twenty kronar’s not enough? I’ll pay fifty, easily.”

“Nobody’s making it through in this storm,” Maximoff shouted back. “You’re better off shooting me here and now. Quicker than freezing.”

“Sure about that?” Surtr snarled.

“Easy,” Heimdall warned. “We still need a guide.”

The column marching behind them had stopped. Skurge craned his neck to look over the shivering crowd. “Norns below, what’s going on up there?” He tried curling a hand behind his ear, but that only made the wind’s whistle louder.

“You talking doesn’t help me hear,” Valkyrie snapped.

“Quiet, both of you,” Korg hushed them. He was looking at the treeline. Valkyrie started to speak but Korg put a finger to his lips. “There,” he pointed, as something red flickered between the pines. 

“Fury?” Valkyrie tensed. “You think they followed us this far?”

“Could be,” Korg muttered. “You should fetch an officer and report it.”

“Fuck the officers,” Skurge dropped the rope and swung his musket off his back. Korg felt the rope lurch in his hands. He squatted forward to keep the sled steady. “Officers’ have got horses,” Skurge continued. “We can’t outrun an ambush.” The sled slipped another few inches downhill. Korg pulled just to hold it in place. Loki pressed his shoulder to the yoke even as he felt the snow give way. Suddenly the sled tipped back and Valkyrie shrieked as they fell down the path. The yoke snapped up. It slammed into Loki’s collarbone with a crack and bounced of the bone to hit his throat. Loki fell forward against the beam as the sled fell further back, picking up speed. The skids hit a sheet of ice. The sled swerved to the left. Loki’s shoulder wrenched. He heard the pop a little to his left. And instant later he felt the pain.

Loki screamed. It tore out of him. His knees went soft and he would have fallen but for the yoke digging into his throat and pinning up his arms. Someone caught the sled from behind and Korg found his footing at last. Loki barely noticed the hoofbeats as Heimdall and Tony rode up.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Heimdall thundered. “Sergeant,” he snapped at Korg. “Where are the rest of your men?”

“Saw something in the woods, Field Marshal,” Korg panted. A yowl from Loki cut short his next words. Pity coloured Heimdall’s features for a moment. 

“Fenris!” Heimdall called over his shoulder. “Get him on his feet.” Fenris jogged a few steps around the sled. He crouched down beside Loki.

“Can you stand?” he asked. Loki shook his head. He gritted his teeth against another scream. 

“His shoulder’s out,” Valkyrie pulled herself to the front of the sled and bent low to speak to Fenris. “You have to untie him to set it, Sergeant.” 

Fenris turned to Heimdall. “She’s right, Field Marshal. I’d need to let him loose.”

“Make it quick,” Heimdall ordered. 

As Fenris started on the knots a scuffling sounded from the woods. Skurge came out first, dragging along a grey-eyed woman in a red felt coat. Snowflakes caught in the tear-streaks running down the woman’s face. Maximoff recognized the scarlet fabric even through the falling snow. 

“Wanda!” he shouted. “Bastards, let her go!”

“Looks like we’ve found something worth more than Stark’s fifty kronar,” Surtr whistled.

“Get her on the sled,” Heimdall told Skurge. “And bind her fast. What happens to her now is in Mr. Maximoff’s hands.”

“Heimdall!” Loki’s shout was half-frustration and half-pain. “Odin’s bloody eye, look at me, Heimdall!”

Reluctantly, Heimdall looked down. Loki knelt in the snow, his left arm hanging useless by his side. With the yoke off his shoulders he was finally able to raise his head. “You don’t need to take her,” he said. “You don’t need Maximoff either. I know this pass. As well as I know my own home,” he added bitterly. “I’ll lead you back to Asgard, I’ll open the palace doors for you if that’s what you want. Have the crown for all I care. Wear it or burn it. I’ll help you either way. Only don’t drag me home in chains. You know I didn’t kill him, Heimdall. Just let me go and let me find who did. Please. Whatever you ask, I’m yours. Please.”

Heimdall sat silent. For a moment, only the snow and the storm passed between them. “It seems I was mistaken,” he said at last. “You beg far better than I could ever forgive. Patch him up as best you can,” he told Fenris. “Put the yoke back on him when you’re done. A man should know the weight of his crimes.”

“Sir,” Fenris saluted as Heimdall rode away. Stark lingered by the sorry spectacle. “Skurge, I need another set of hands to hold him down.”

Skurge finished tying Wanda to the frame of the sled. “Hold him how?” he asked uncertainly. 

“Tight,” Fenris instructed. He grabbed hold of Loki’s arm. “He’s going to thrash.”

Skurge bend his knees and leaned forward, placing his weight against Loki. His shoulder popped back into place with more pain than coming out. By the time the black spots stopped blooming behind his eyes, Valkyrie was packing snow onto his shoulder and tying it in place with a strip of Thor’s cloak. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Fenris lift the yoke. Loki stiffened.

“Sergeant,” Valkyrie started to plead, as he lowered the yoke back over Loki’s neck. 

“I’d say you can leave that off,” Tony commented. Elbows on the front of his saddle, he leaned low to be heard over the wind. “It’s not like he’s got anywhere to run to. Right, Lokes?”

“Field Marshal’s orders,” Fenris shrugged stubbornly.

“The order was to hurry up,” Tony reminded him. “This whole,” he gestured at Loki, trembling from the weight of the yoke on his shoulder. “This isn’t exactly speeding things along.”

“He’s right,” Valkyrie called. “He’ll only slow us down.” It could have been said meanly, but there was something soft and sorry in the soldier’s eyes. 

“Here,” Tony tossed a length of rope from his saddlebag. He looped one end around the cantle. Fenris pursed his lips. “Come on,” Tony cajoled. “Before we all freeze to death.”

At last Fenris relented. He lifted the yoke off Loki’s shoulders and loaded it onto the sled at Wanda’s feet. In a quick motion he tied the other end of the rope around Loki’s wrists. “Stay close to the sled,” he warned Tony. “In case the Field Marshal rides back.”

Tony agreed, and Fenris picked up the pace to rejoin his place in the column. As the sled restarted its slow progress beside them, Tony flicked the rope.

“This only works if you keep walking,” he told Loki. “I’m not dragging you behind my horse.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Loki snarled.

“You sure need someone’s,” Tony sighed. “But that’s not what you’re getting, anyway. You said you know these mountains? As well as our guide up there?”

Loki hesitated a moment before nodding. Tony’s face split into a toothy grin. “Fantastic,” he breathed. “Then, soon as it gets dark, you lead us off the main path, away from this army, and back home. Because I’m not marching into a civil war. And I’m pretty sure you’d rather be anywhere where Heimdall isn’t right now.”

“Once we’re out of the mountains,” Loki said carefully. “You’ll let me go? No games, no bargains. Free?” Disbelief coloured his tone. Tony scratched his nose, considering.

“Two conditions,” he said. Loki stiffened. “One, I never see you near me or Peter again. And two, you let me get a solid punch in.”

“Pardon?”

“You beat the shit out of me in that cellar. You owe me one good punch.”

“You’d have the rightful king of Asgard in your debt, and that is all you ask?”

Now Tony couldn’t help it. He did pity the proud man shivering in the snow. He tried to mask it with a laugh. “Look at yourself,” he said. “I won’t ask a man for more than he can give.”

Loki’s lips curled in displeasure. “Your terms are fair,” he said at last. “As soon as it is dark, I’ll lead you to your home.”

“And I’ll cut you loose,” Tony grinned. “But for now,” he flicked the rope again. “Ready to walk?”

Loki rose stiffly and fell into step beside Stark’s horse. The snow was falling faster now and they struggled to keep the sled in sight. The quicker their pace the colder it seemed to grow. The world before them narrowed to a few shivering shadows slogging through the drifts. Behind them, the army vanished in the billowing white. As the storm struck the mountain it swallowed the last of the road.


	9. Chapter 9

Slipping away from the army was very nearly easier done than said. It was still light, but already it seemed to Tony that the column marching around them was not there at all. Even the men struggling a scant few paces ahead were little more than shadows in the white. And with nightfall, even these faded.

Loki led them off the path with short tugs on the rope and soft words to Tony’s horse. The few faint fires the Asgardians had managed to start quickly blinked out of sight behind them. Tony had to squint to make out even Loki at the end of the rope. The path sloped steeply down before them and the sides of the valley rose higher and higher. The wind faded to a dull and distant roar above them. In the dark of the dell, only the crunch of Loki’s footsteps in the snow reminded Tony that he was not alone.

“Hey,” he said hoarsely. His jaw as stiff from the cold and his lips shivered over the words. “Do you know where we’re going?” The dark gave him no answer. Tony jerked the rope.

“What?” a sour voice snapped from the end.

“Where are we?” Tony asked. “This isn’t the same road we came up.”

“No, it’s not,” Loki answered lightly. He kept walking. Tony pulled the rope again, harder. “What?” Loki hissed as it caught his tender shoulder. The rope went slack. Tony drew up beside him.

“You’re sure this is the way down?”

“Norns,” Loki sniffed, exasperated. “Yes.”

“Because there’s nothing in it for you if you leave me out here to freeze to death,” Tony went on. “You know that, right?” He could hear the scathing look Loki gave him. Tony didn’t care. The fear sitting in the pit of his stomach kept crawling up his throat. 

“So there’s no point playing games like this, leading me down dead ends or whatever,” he continued. “We have a deal.”

“Stark,” Loki cut him off. “Look.” He gestured at a rocky outcrop nearly buried beneath the snow. “Once it’s deep enough to cover Armfeldt’s Blunder, the Vigrid pass is snowed in. In this storm, we wouldn’t make it even halfway before the path was blocked. The Emahusen pass is the only way down.”

“What if it gets snowed in, then?” Tony worried.

“Then we die here,” Loki snapped. “Might we keep walking, and avoid that fate?”

Tony gave a small nod. A few frozen steps ahead, the valley started climbing. The rock walls caught the wind and sent it whistling through the tunnel. It cut through Loki and Tony, and set the fresh white powder flying off the ground in swirls. The path bent, and Loki stopped. Shoulders hunched in on himself and trembling almost too much to speak, he frowned at the emptiness ahead.

“What?” Tony asked nervously.

“This isn’t right,” Loki murmured. Tony could barely hear him over the furious wind.

“What do you mean, not right? Are we lost?” he demanded.

“There should be a marker,” Loki faltered. He gestured at a patch of snow to their left, indistinguishable from the rest of the trail. “It must be buried.”

“Or you’ve just got us lost,” Tony growled. The horse whinnied angrily as Loki lurched forward, dropping to his knees to dig at where the marker should have been. Soon enough, he stopped. He trudged back to Tony, his raw, cold hands pressed under his arms. It only served to chill him further. 

“We’ll have to double back,” he said glumly, starting off back up the valley.

“Sure,” Tony groused, turning the horse around. “You lead the way. You know the path like the back of your hand, huh? Better than the guide.”

“I know the path,” Loki growled. “It’s only that we’ve walked too far. Can’t see the end of your nose in this storm.”

The wind seemed harsher on the way back up, and the valley more winding than when first they’d passed through. Loki stopped at every strange snow-covered shape and lump. Each time Tony was torn between shouting at him to keep walking, and shouting at him to look longer, look again, until he found the path beneath their feet. But shouting – no matter what he shouted – changed nothing. Loki stayed for as long as he could and returned looking just as lost as he’d left. At last, at the mouth of the valley, Tony got off his horse to follow him.

“See anything?” he asked, clambering up onto the ridge. Beside him Loki shook his head.

“White,” he answered weakly. Tony wanted it to be some trap or trick. But he couldn’t see where the sky ended and the snow began.

“So what do we do?” he asked. He forced himself to speak slowly, to breathe deeply. It wasn’t working. “What the fuck to we do now? I’m not dying on this hill because of you. Not for stupid Natasha, not for – fuck!” he exploded. He dug his nails into his forehead. The skin was so cold it barely felt like pain. Loki stayed silent and still. He hardly even shivered, though his thin jacket was threadbare and his lips were nearly blue. 

“This mountain is Natasha’s graveyard,” he said at last. “We’d be in good company.”

Tony gaped at him. “You’re insane, you know that? Fuck. “There’s still a way around, right?” he snapped “You just can’t find it. But if we go back down and look again in the valley –”

“It’s snowed in,” Loki spoke with dreadful certainty.

“There’s no way you know that! Come on,” he demanded angrily. He grabbed Loki’s arm and tried to pull him down off the ridge. But Loki didn’t follow him. “Let’s go!” Tony called.

“Where?” Loki asked the snow.

“What, where?” Tony shouted. “Off this damn mountain.”

“And then? Where?” Loki repeated. 

“Who the fuck cares? Somewhere warm.”

Loki laughed, and it was harsher than the wind. “Go on then,” he told Tony. “There’s nowhere warm left for me to go.”

“Come on,” Tony called. Loki still wasn’t moving. “You’ll freeze out here.”

“Not right away.”

“Not freezing at all sounds much better!” Tony threw back. He waited a moment more, just long enough to see that Loki’s wasn’t following. “Fine!” he hollered. “Just tell me which way!” The wind stole his words with a howl. 

Loki heard the man calling, distantly. Fading. Wandering into the storm. He was cold past cold, past shaking. Past feeling. He’d been lost here before, and had found the sad road back to a cold and empty home. But now even that was gone. There was no way back. He’d felt it in his bones the moment he’d seen Thor’s dead eyes frosted over. There was no home he could go back to now without bringing war and worse in through the door behind him. Hela’s war, Heimdall’s war. Odin’s war. Never Loki’s. He was only there to watch the crossfire catch who it could. And to bear the blame. What manner of man could have done all the wrong they blamed Loki for? That man frightened him. He closed his eyes and the cold sucked tears from their corners. Loki thought he could see him there in the dark of his eyelids, the madness stretching out his smile.

“Come,” he heard the man whisper, his voice low and laced with all the lies Loki had been told he’d told. “There’s no way out, there’s no way back. And they already call you a murderer.”

He fell back into his own footprints as he let the voice lead him up the valley. He was already over the ridge when he saw the shape of the sentry standing up ahead. He froze, and ducked low, hoping the snow would be enough to hide him. He closed his eyes and tried to remember how to pray as the cold seeped through his shirt and dripped down his spine. Every sound that could have been the soldier’s steps left his breaths short and his heart pounding. At last Loki couldn’t bear the stillness anymore. He lurched to his feet, staggering as blood flooded muscles cramped from fear and cold. The sentry was still there. But before blind panic could send him ducking for cover, Loki frowned. 

The sentry was there, yes. Exactly where he’d been before. Loki took a tentative step towards the man, then raised his arms and waved. He held his breath. The sentry didn’t so much as twitch. Cautiously, Loki closed the distance between them and recognized Surtr. Or what was left of Surtr, at any rate. The man had died sitting down and the snow had fallen deep enough around him now to keep him upright. Surtr’s skin was bone-white, and lacy lines of frost had formed over his cheeks and open eyes. His hands were blue, the fingers stiff and crooked with cold. The ashes of a small campfire blew across his boots. The wooden butt of his rifle lay in the bit, half-burned. It hadn’t been enough. Dread settled low in Loki’s stomach. How many had made it through the night?

“Heimdall’s doing,” the frightful man reassured him. “Baldr’s doing.”

“But I picked the path,” Loki whispered. “I would have led us here just as surely.” The man wouldn’t hear of it. Loki shook his head and reached for Surtr’s coat. The hilt of the soldier’s knife stuck out from Surtr’s belt. Loki reached for the blade, and hesitated. But not for very long.   
 


	10. Chapter 10

Valkyrie woke to screaming. A woman’s shrill voice cut through the snow crying, “Pietro!”, pleading against the frost and the wind. Valkyrie opened her eyes. Then tried to open them again, for she could see almost as little as when she’d had them closed. Stiffly, she tried to sit up, and the motion cracked the blanket of snow in which the night had buried her. She moved to brush it off, but even breathing hurt. When she grabbed at the side of the cart to pull herself up, her hand was too numb to feel the splinters beneath her fingers. Blearily, she realized that Wanda was still screaming.

“Pietro! Where are you?!” she sobbed and wrenched against the ropes that held her to the cart. They whined each time she moved, twisting under a thin crust of frost. “You!” she cried, seeing that Valkyrie was awake. “Please, I beg you, please let me go. They’re all dead. Please, please just let me go.”

Valkyrie’s thoughts came sluggish and slow. “They – who’s dead?” she managed to ask. “Were we attacked?” 

But Wanda only shook her head. “Dead,” she repeated. “They’re all dead. Please, please let me go.”

Painstaking slowly, Valkyrie eased herself off the cart and hooked her crutches under her arms. She couldn’t see more than an inch ahead as she hobbled around to the front of the sled. As she drew closer, she heard a scraping against the snow. She pressed towards it, blindly, and nearly tripped over Korg. He was crouched down by the skids, hacking away the snow with the singed butt of his rifle.

“Sergeant?” she asked. “Why’ve we stopped?”

“Not long, not much longer,” Korg answered her absently. “Just until I get the sled free.”

“Where are we?” She squinted her eyes but there was nothing to see. The path was gone. Even the sheer cliffs of the peak were reduced to just a bit of darkness in the distance. “Where’s the rest of the army?”

“Gone on,” Korg muttered. “Gone behind. Gone.”

“Gone?”

“Skurge was there,” Korg added, nodding towards the other length of rope that stretched into the white as if he’d only just remembered. “But he stopped digging.” He shook his head and struggled with his scarf a moment before simply pulling the whole thing off. Valkyrie watched as his gloves followed suit and his coat flapped unbuttoned about him. The icy wind cut her to shreds, but Korg no longer seemed to notice.

“Sergeant, we have to get out this storm,” she tried. Korg was already back to digging. “Find the others, find some way across the mountain. I,” she clenched her teeth. Her leg hurt. “I can’t make it alone.” The ice breaking was her only answer. “Korg… ”

“I can’t leave my king,” he said simply. He didn’t even look up from his work. “Everyone else has. I can’t.”

“He’s dead!” She hadn’t thought it would come out as a sob. “I – he’s dead, and the dead don’t care.”

“Then the living should.”

Wanda’s wailing cut him off. Valkyrie stumbled away, tripping over Skurge as she went. There was still a bit of bread in his mouth that he hadn’t finished chewing before he’d gone. Snow was piling up on his tongue. Valkyrie tried not to look up until she’d hobbled far enough for him to fade from view.

“Hey! Hello?” she shouted at snowdrifts and shadows, if only to drown out the scraping and the screams. “Help!”

“Hello?”

Valkyrie froze, not sure if she had imagined the voice. Her crutches dug into her sides as she shifted to face the sound. 

“Hello!” she heard him call again.

“Over here!” she answered. They came out of the snow side by side, red-faced and shivering. Fenris raised his arm when he spotted her, and Valkyrie struggled through a salute when she recognized the captain and Lord Baldr beside him.

“Who’s with you, soldier?” Fenris asked, panting white clouds between the words.

“There’s the sled – the king.” She pointed roughly back where she thought she’d come. “Sergeant Korg’s there, and the woman, and Skurge… but he’s.” She shook her head. “I don’t know about the rest.”

“You’re the first we’ve found,” Fenris confessed bitterly. “Let’s get Korg, and get somewhere out of this storm.”

“Can she walk?” Baldr frowned, noticing her crutches. 

“I’ll manage, my lord,” Valkyrie gritted her teeth. Baldr nodded and headed off in the direction she had pointed, not waiting a moment longer to see if his companions could keep pace. Fenris followed, but slowly, and checking over his shoulder now and again to keep Valkyrie in sight. Soon Baldr had vanished into the blinding white far ahead of them both. Valkyrie walked as best she could until a horrible thought stopped her mid-stride. She no longer knew which way they had come from. Everything looked the same, and even their footprints were gone. She thought she heard Wanda shriek once more but where from or how far she couldn’t even guess.

“Stop!” she shouted at Fenris. Hearing the panic climbing up her throat – and feeling the same – he did. “We’re going in circles. Just stop. Maybe we’ll hear them?” He stopped, and stood beside her, clenching his hands for warmth as they listened for calls or footfalls.

“There!” he said, pointing. A figure stalked across the snow at the edge of their sight. Fenris pressed his hands around his mouth and hollered. “My lord!” The figure stopped. He turned towards him and kept walking until they could recognize his sharp features through the blizzard. Loki stopped an arm’s length away and watched them warily.

He hadn’t looked like a prince in a long while, but now he barely looked like himself. His skin was pale where it wasn’t blue and each movement seemed at once slow and sudden, like a man pulled along on a string. 

“Your Grace,” Valkyrie coughed, breaking their silence. She had to repeat it twice before Loki understood that her voice was real. She met his hollow gaze and wished she hadn’t.

“’Grace’,” Loki said hoarsely. “It hardly seems to suit.”

“Did you see Lord Baldr?” Fenris asked brusquely. “Or Korg?” 

Loki shook his head. “No one but the dead,” he answered softly.

“We’re looking for somewhere to sit out the storm,” Fenris said. Slowly, so as not to startle, he extended a hand. Loki made no move to take it. “I meant every word I said, before,” Fenris told him. He kept his hand outstretched. “Even if I can’t forgive you, I respect you. Too much to leave you here.”

Loki hesitated. And then, uncertainly, he took the hand.

“I know a cave,” he admitted. “It’s not an easy climb but it – it’s safe.”

“Can you find it?” Valkyrie was skeptical.

By way of answer Loki strode past her and set his hand against the rocky cliff face. It took some looking, but under the snow his fingers found a shallow groove worn into the rock. He set off, turning steeply form the path, tracing the mark to guide his way. A little way ahead he paused, glancing back to see if they would follow.

“I’ll go behind,” Fenris told Valkyrie. “See we don’t lose you.” Still she didn’t step forward. Valkyrie looked up the steep, icy path with Loki waiting there and despite the cold and the wind her gut still told her to run. 

“We should try to find Lord Baldr,” she stalled. Fenris hesitated. 

“How will we find our way back?” he asked at last. She had no answer, and he realized it quickly. Still, he bellowed the young lord’s name into the wind. Loki flinched at the first call. Fenris gave up after the fifth went unanswered. Not quite meeting Valkyrie’s eye, he fell into step behind Loki. Seeing no other path, she followed his.


	11. Chapter 11

Wanda didn’t have enough strength left to keep screaming. Now and then she managed to whistle, or croak out her brother’s name. Or simply kick against the sides of the sled. But the silences were growing longer, and it was getting harder and harder to keep trying. A sudden warmth wrapped around her hands. Wanda gasped. 

“– hear me? I’m just going to untie you, alright?”

Wanda felt the ropes start rubbing as the stranger fumbled with the knots. “Pietro,” she whispered.

“Uh, just Peter,” the stranger stammered. He pulled the last of the ropes clear. “There you go,” he said gently, helping her to her feet. Wanda let him ease her off the sled. She waited for a wary moment, watching him. When Peter lowered his arms and smiled, she took her chance and ran.

“Wait!” Peter called after her. He bounded a few steps through the snow behind her, but stopped when he saw the panic on her face. She darted off the path and out of sight. “Wait,” he called again, half-heartedly this time. “I just – I just wanted to help.”

Disheartened, he sat down on a snow-covered stone and buried his face in the wool of his mitts. He didn’t know where to look for Mr. Stark anymore. There was no army, there was no camp. There were just bodies. He tried not to look too closely at the narrow space under the sled where Sergeant Korg had curled up. He didn’t want to see another one. But Mr. Stark was still out there, somewhere, and Peter forced himself to his feet. Snow slid off stone as he stood, and Peter frowned at the fine blue wool he could see in the gap. He shuddered. That hadn’t been a rock at all. 

He crouched beside the shape and started brushing off the powder. Soon enough, he could see a pleasant face and downy beard. He kept digging until he saw the gash cut clear through the Asgardian’s throat. Peter felt himself go still. The blood was still bright red – frozen, not quite dried. He thought he heard footsteps crunching through the snow behind him.

“Okay,” he reassured himself under his breath. “It’s okay. They’re probably just scared, too.” He reached down and gathered a handful of snow packed tight in his palm. Then he stood, slowly, and called, “Hello!” He shuffled around in a small circle to look behind him. The path was empty. He turned back around to face the body, and it was then he saw him. The Field Marshal had appeared in front of him like a ghost. Frost caught in the tight curls of his beard and weary, frightened eyes, glanced from the corpse to the red snow on Peter’s mittens.

“Baldr,” Heimdall breathed. “What have you done?”

“Nothing!” Peter exclaimed. It was suddenly no longer comforting to remind himself that the Field Marshal might be just as frightened. “I found him.” Peter flinched back as Heimdall stepped forward. 

“I won’t hurt you,” Heimdall said carefully, crouching down beside the body. He turned Baldr onto his back. The long gash grinned red, an inch deep in his throat. It wasn’t the only wound. Peter sucked in a breath and turned away, but Heimdall only sighed and closed the dead man’s eyes. “I would have thought you’d be long gone, little spy,” he said, without looking up at Peter. 

“I couldn’t leave Mr. Stark.” Peter gritted his teeth and tucked his hands under his arms to warm them. Heimdall grimaced. 

“He left you.” 

“You took him prisoner and dragged him away,” Peter said bitterly. “It’s not exactly the same thi– wait. He escaped, didn’t he?” Peter’s face broke into a grin with the realization. That joy faded quickly when he looked around the lonely, grey-white mountainside. 

“The storm scattered us,” Heimdall admitted. “And where your master is, I cannot know.” He rose reluctantly, and reached into his breast pocket. Peter tensed, fearing a pistol, but Heimdall only pulled out a ragged bit of parchment with a map inked on one side. He let the wind take it and drag it out of sight. Then he stood and made for the cliffside where he started digging at the snow piled on the rock. A sudden movement out the corner of his eye made him pause. Heimdall rested his hand on his sabre. 

“Are you alone?” he asked Peter roughly. The boy nodded. “Stay where I can see you,” Heimdall added. “That blood is fresh.” He drew the sabre and squared up, raising the blade. Nothing moved in the distance now, but beside him he heard Peter gasp. Then the cool kiss of a knife tickled at his neck.

“Put the sword down,” Natasha said softly, “and let the boy go.” Heimdall’s lips thinned. He lowered the point of his blade. 

“So,” he huffed. “The snake crawls out of the dark at last. And here I thought you never stayed after a job was done.” Natasha’s eyes flickered over Baldr’s corpse.

“That’s not mine,” she said icily. 

“No? No, I suppose you could say it was Hela’s. Or was it Loki who paid you?” His question ended in a hiss as her knife pressed hard against his skin.

“I don’t do Asgard’s dirty work,” she snapped. “Not ever again.”

Heimdall laughed. 

“Believe what you believe,” Natasha snapped. “Let’s go, Peter.” She kicked the back of Heimdall’s knees and pushed him forward, knocking him onto his belly. Her knife stayed firmly in her hand even as she started backing away.

“Wait.” Peter wasn’t following her. He walked up to Heimdall and picked the sabre up off the ground. Then he offered the Field Marshal his hand. 

“Peter,” Natasha growled, but he was already helping Heimdall to his feet. 

“Look, there’s nowhere to go,” Peter told her. “At least not until the storm clears up. And now there’s someone going around cutting people up. We’d be better off sticking together.” He trailed off, and Heimdall’s nasty laughter drowned him out. Natasha looked like she’d rather swallow sewage. 

“Move,” she said, pushing Peter down the path ahead of her. He looked back one last time to see Heimdall dusting himself off and walking back to the cliff to continue his strange search under the snow. Natasha led them off the path and out of the worst of the wind under a rugged overhang. Peter cleared away a space on the ledge to sit and found the stone frozen and wet. He tucked his coat over his nose and chin and tried to breathe some warmth into the gap. It only left him feeling colder afterwards.

“Why did you come after me?” he asked Natasha, exasperated. “All it’s done is got us both stuck up here.”

“Someone had to come after you.” Natasha’s voice was flat and her expression stony. “This is a bad place to die alone.”

Peter shook his head and spoke with stubborn optimism. “We’re not going to die. We’ll – we’ll find a cave or something, and when the weather clears up we’ll… we’re not going to die,” he decided. The look Natasha gave him bordered on pity.

She didn’t know what it was like to have that kind of certainty, or the kind of loyalty that had driven the boy up the mountain in the first place. But she remembered what it looked like. How it sounded. How Loki had glided through the golden halls, invincible and giddy with thoughts of a future still to be built. She had been hired to play a part, to feign interest in his freedom dreams – Heimdall’s dreams – until he told her the ‘when’ and ‘where’ and ‘how many’ that interested Odin. It was an easy part to play. His eyes had lit up when he’d described a nation ruled from voting booths and she’d never seen a sweeter smile that the one playing on his lips at the notion of an empty throne. 

He had believed every word, and that had been the beauty of it. The weakness of it. She had listened to him knowing that, in the next room, Thor was pawing at a serving girl because he was heir and it was his due. That Hela’s hunting parties ended with more courtiers killed than game, because that was her whim. That Odin ruled, merciless and absolute. Loki had truly believed that he and Heimdall could take the crown from such a family with only silver words and paper shackles. And she had dragged him out into cold and cruel reality. Except Odin’s reality was crueler still than anything she had imagined. Natasha’s stomach turned at the memory.

“Did you hear me?” Peter tapped her shoulder. 

“No,” she answered, sounding distant.

“The Field Marshal, he was looking for something on the cliff,” Peter repeated. “Maybe he knows a path or a shelter or something?” 

Stiffly, Natasha nodded. “Let’s take a look,” she said, standing, and she had to smile at Peter’s hopeful look as they climbed back up the path. The snow had kept on falling steadily, but she could still spot the shallow dips of Heimdall’s footprints. They followed them to the sheer black rock and Natasha felt her heart beat faster when she saw the marker gouged there. “Good eye,” she told Peter. He whooped, and Natasha grabbed his arm before he could take off on their new path. “Keep behind me,” she warned. “We don’t know who else we’ll find.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow. Finally got here. Thanks so much for sticking with this story (which got way more complicated than I had planned, and took way longer to end). I hope you liked the ride, and your comments made my day. Enjoy one last, tragic installment.

The markers carved into the cliff face led them up a steep and narrow track high above the valley. The air seemed thinner here, and the wind wailed desperately. After perhaps an hour, the path widened into a flat, boulder-strewn ledge and they spotted a jagged crack in the rough rock. The cave was long and dark within. Natasha heard water running from the depths. 

“It’s warmer here,” Peter said. He reached down blindly towards and dipped his fingers into the brook. “Hot springs!” 

“Quiet,” Natasha hissed. She could hear the voices an instant before she saw their shadows. She grabbed Peter’s arm and motioned for him to be silent. The dark tunnel ended in a small cavern, where the craggy ceiling hung a little higher overhead and the hot spring bubbled up from a gouge in the rock. Two small piles of stone – each reaching just past Natasha’s waist – flanked the entrance. She ducked behind the nearest of the two, pulling Peter down beside her. She held as still as she could, and listened. On the other side the voices sounded angry. 

“Keep back,” a young man snarled. “Or I will run you through.” 

No one answered him. As the echoes died away, Natasha could only hear pained panting above her and unsteady feet pacing on the gravel. Carefully, she craned her neck to look around the stones. She froze to find herself an inch from Heimdall’s side as the Field Marshall leaned against the cairn. He clutched at his belly. The shadows were darker there. They bled out slowly between his fingers. The man who had spoken – a sergeant – stood in front of Heimdall, his rifle raised at the back of the cave. The bayonet gleamed dully. 

“Back!” he shouted again, stabbing at nothing. Just out of reach, Loki swayed unsteadily. The knife in his hand dripped.

“Put it down, Fenris,” he rasped. “I’d rather not kill you, too.” Fenris braced the rifle against his shoulder and set his jaw. “Let me pass,” Loki told him.

“Drop the knife,” Fenris countered. Loki’s lips bent into a broken smile. The knife flipped in his hand and he let it loose. It wasn’t a throwing knife. It fell more that flew the short distance between him and Fenris. Loki might have meant for it to fly farther, or spin faster and strike the sergeant with the hilt. But it didn’t. And by now, whatever he had meant mattered little.

Loki lunged forward just before the knife lodged itself in Fenris’ neck, barely seeing him go down. He shoved the man aside and grabbed Heimdall by the collar of his coat. Heimdall’s screams turned to gasps as Loki slammed his forearm against the man’s throat. Bloody fingers clawed at Loki’s face as Heimdall slipped out of his grip and slid to the cavern floor. Loki reached for a stone from the top of the cairn.

“Please!” Heimdall tried to drag himself out of reach with one hand. The other was still holding the wound in his belly. “Please –”

“Please what?” Loki growled. Limping and struggling to hold the stone in his good hand he was barely faster than Heimdall crawling on the ground. He pitched his voice to a mocking whine. “Please make it quick? Please don’t let it hurt? That’s the most you should ask.”

“Don’t,” Heimdall panted. Natasha saw him start to come around the cairn. Nudging Peter, she started to inch along in the opposite direction. But Peter, horrified, couldn’t move.

“Don’t kill you?” Loki’s laugh was a frightful thing. “I thought it was my lot to beg. I don’t suppose you even gave Thor the chance.”

“I didn’t kill him,” Heimdall gasped. Natasha could see his whole head now, and his shoulders. And the toes of Loki’s battered boots.

“Peter,” she breathed, putting her hand on his. The boy flinched violently. Natasha took his hand and pulled, guiding him along the cairn.

“You didn’t kill him,” Loki repeated. “I’m sure. I’m sure one of your men was happy enough to pull the trigger. Or one of Baldr’s. You still stood by and watched and knew it happened.”

“I knew nothing!” Heimdall shouted. “Until I found you and your man, I didn’t even know he was dead!”

“It’s a short road from mourning to scheming then.” With one long stride Loki closed the gap between them. His next step brought his heel down on the bloody mess under Heimdall’s hand. Natasha tasted bile when she heard the strangled squeal.

“Always – a plan,” Heimdall gasped. “Mourning – always. Can’t stop life for the dead.”

“No,” Loki agreed coldly. He raised the stone above his head. A cry from behind was all that kept him from dropping it on Heimdall’s head. 

“Don’t!” 

Natasha had not seen the woman, though she was only a few inches in front of her. Valkyrie lay on the rock beside Fenris’ cold corpse. “Please, your Grace. Don’t.” But the sound had only made Loki pause. Nothing had really changed. Loki brought the stone down with a hollow crack against Heimdall’s head. And again. Then again. It was only in the silence that swallowed the fourth blow that Natasha realized how loud Heimdall’s death had been. Beside her, Valkyrie was quietly weeping. 

“He didn’t know,” she whispered. “None of them knew.” It slipped out of her, almost too soft to notice. Natasha noticed.

Loki stepped shakily away from the body, the bloodstained stone still in his hand. Natasha stumbled back to the keep the distance between them and to keep out of sight. She felt more than saw Peter scrambling behind her, heedless of the hot spring flowing by them. The splash crashed against the walls of the silent cavern, not quite drowning out Peter’s yelp.

“Who’s there?” Loki barked at the sound. Natasha shoved Peter against the cairn before he had the chance to answer. She put a finger to his lips, hoping he would know to stay quiet. She could hear Loki’s footsteps bearing down on them, heading straight for Peter. There was barely an arm’s length between Natasha and the wall – nowhere to hide if Loki looked over the cairn. Nowhere to run if he struck out in rage. Natasha breathed steel into her nerves. And stood.

“Only me,” she said lightly, stepping around the cairn and into view. “Don’t look so surprised,” she added, guessing. It was too dark – and the sheen of his eyes too strange – to know what he was thinking. “You know I don’t leave without an answer.” She let it hang heavy in the air.

“To which question?” Loki bit out at last. Natasha forced herself to smile, knowing he would hear it on her words. Hoping it would distract him long enough for Peter to hide. Or for her to reach her knife.

“Who killed the king?” she tilted her head, just enough to meet Valkyrie’s eye when she asked that. Terror twisted every inch of the woman’s face. “I wonder if even Heimdall knew. If there was ever any grand plan at all. Or if it just… happened. A desperate act in the dark.”

Loki followed her gaze, down to the woman on the floor. And Valkyrie broke.

“I never meant it, your Grace, I swear it. I swear I never meant it,” she sobbed quietly. Guilt shook each word. “But he – his Maje… he wouldn’t stop.” 

“You?” Loki breathed. His eyes grew wide as he remembered. “You… in the tunnels, in the trench. The wound on your arm.” He wasn’t looking at Natasha anymore, almost as if she weren’t there. As if he’d imagined her. Being imagined suited Natasha fine. She slid behind him and drew her knife. Loki didn’t hear the blade. “Why?” he asked Valkyrie.

“He wouldn’t stop,” she repeated.

That wasn’t enough for Loki. He lunged forward, reaching for her. In the same moment, Natasha struck. She would have cut his throat if he’d stood still but the cut grazed shallow down his neck and sank into his shoulder. Loki howled and rounded on her. Natasha glimpsed Valkyrie crawling deeper into the cave an instant before she felt Loki’s hands on her throat. She tucked her chin low and sent her knee into his gut. Doubling over, Loki couldn’t block her elbow slamming into his wounded shoulder. Natasha kicked him back and ran. She made it only two steps before she felt her feet tangle and tripped, landing hard on top on Heimdall’s corpse. Rolling onto her back, she raised her hands against the expected attack. But Loki had stopped. He wasn’t going for her. He set the stone back in its place on the pile, and held it there. 

“Do you think you’re next?” Loki asked, watching as Natasha struggled to untangle herself from Heimdall. 

“No,” she growled. With a clatter she got free and bounded to her feet. She’d dropped her knife in the fray, but at least she could see Loki standing between the cairns. He turned away from her, and looked back down at the stones.

“This is the place,” he said, softly. There might have been hate in the words once. Now they only sounded tired. “Your place, and mine.” 

Natasha felt the fight leave her as she watched Loki watching the cairns. The two small cairns. Something ugly snapped into place. She remembered tamping down the guilt that had followed her out of Odin’s audience hall, years ago. Remembered Loki’s furious pounding on the door – the door she hadn’t dared unlock. He’d screamed at her from the courtyard then – “What have you done? Where are my sons? What have you done?” She hadn’t known what she had done until long after.

“Vali?” She barely dared to breathe the name. But, horribly, Loki nodded. He gestured at the second cairn.

“I buried Narvi first. He was smaller and there was… less of him left.” There were old tears in Loki’s throat. “Odin sent men – he sent Thor – to my home. To bring them to him. He didn’t have to send men to bring me. He told me he would give them back in exchange for Heimdall and the rest of them. He –” Loki’s voice broke. “It was Odin’s lesson. A people without a king are like children without their father. Lost in the woods. Wandering. Doomed.” He sobbed a laugh. “He taught his lesson well.” 

He looked back up at her, and now Natasha felt her muscles tense with fear. Ready for the blow. Loki only gave her a thin, sad smile. And the blow never came. Instead she heard footsteps shuffle and when Natasha looked, Loki was already stumbling down the tunnel towards the storm outside. Natasha followed him. He made it nearly to the mouth of the cave before the bitter cold made him hesitate. Natasha spotted the flicker of doubt. 

“Wait!” she called, cursing her damned conscience. Her damned guilt. “What’s your son’s name?” she asked him. “Your youngest, waiting with Sigyn back in Asgard.” 

Loki didn’t answer, or even look behind him as he left. Before Natasha had decided whether to go after him and drag him back to shelter, he had faded out of sight. Her heart seized, and she suddenly had to lean against the cavern walls to stay on her feet. Peter caught her when she’d made her way back. She sat down facing the entrance. Not Heimdall, or the cairns. Peter brought her Fenris’ coat and slung it across her shoulders. He must have been speaking, saying something comforting, because she told him to stop. He did. Natasha kept her watch at the mouth of the cave, long after Peter had fallen asleep. But the dawn still seemed an endless night away. And Loki didn’t come back.


End file.
